


Stardust

by Ceryna



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sassmaster Pidge, Slow Burn, Team Dynamics, so slow it'll likely be nonexistent, until ka-bam there it is... 52 chapters later or smth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8602438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceryna/pseuds/Ceryna
Summary: Magic, legends, and demons—they all exist. Keith is a wizard that lives in Tokyo by himself. He surfs the skies with magic boots, hunting demons as a freelancer. Without any guild affiliation, he takes requests as he can get them to make a living. Lance, Pidge, and Hunk attend the San Francisco Institute of Magic, studying under Coran. They spend their time researching magic, practicing combat, and hunting demons, getting field experience.Matt, Shiro, and Allura are missing. They have been for years, likely the work of a rogue witch, criminal guild, or something far more nefarious—demons.These days, demons have been appearing more and more frequently, and their interest has shifted. Consuming magical energy is no longer their top priority—they’re after something bigger. Something that could result in the collision of the demon realm and the human one, a catastrophe with unimaginable consequences.Magic AU.





	1. where worlds collide and days are dark

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a mish-mash of magic aus and my own spin on things. Hopefully it's as entertaining to read as it was to write.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Problem: Keith needs rent money for the next three months. Solution: Use magic, catch a demon, turn it in for the bounty and call it good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of a magic AU that wouldn't quite leave me alone. 
> 
> Chapter title from Adele's _Skyfall_.

 

_Magic, legends, and demons—they all exist._

 

_Tokyo_

_19:53_

 

The steady rumbling of the wheels and shifting balance of the metro car lull Keith into relaxing. He leans against the door, eyes closed, and breathes a deep sigh.

 

The calm never lasts.

 

“The next stop is Ueno station,” the intercom proclaims, too loud.

 

His fingers twitch, eyes flying open to reveal the walls littered with posters, advertising everything from the ‘latest and greatest anime’ to ‘delicious and refreshing’ Asahi beer to Kraft parmesan cheese.

 

The intercom continues, the vaguely feminine voice squashing the silence of the train car. “Please change here for the Yamanote line, the Ginza subway line, and the Hibiya subway line. The doors on the right side will open. Please be careful.”

 

His mind lingers on the last words. _Please be careful._

 

He huffs a quiet snort. _Please._ As if he had a choice.

 

Keith glances out the rear door of the train as it trundles on through the dimness, watching the lights fade as he passes, and wonders if demons will jump out at him. He can imagine it already—sensing their auras right before the glass shatters when they leap in, hacking poisonous spit in his direction. The humans, oblivious as the spit melts the walls and the demons carve grooves into the floor, pouncing for him. The white hollows of their eyes right before he shoves his blades through their hearts, twisting deep to make sure they don’t return. _For a while, anyway._

 

The image disappears in a blink, and he has to make a conscious effort to pull his fingers off the hilts of his swords. He settles for crossing his arms to stifle his uneasiness. While the position quiets his fingers, his right foot starts tapping insistently against the floor.

 

He stills it only for his left foot to be infected with the same rhythm.

 

The metro car slides to a stop, the doors hissing open with another unnecessary warning to be careful. He has to resist expending any of his magical energy on destroying the intercom system as he strides off the train, his jacket fluttering in the wind. The humans give him a wide berth without thinking anything of it.

 

Keith supposes it’s customary—the distance. It helps that he uses glamour. If anyone saw him for what he was, they’d call their police and shit would hit the fan. He really doesn’t need that. The Japanese word めんどうくさい comes to mind. _Bothersome._

 

Even that would be an understatement.

 

He pulls his mask further up his face as he descends the stairs, drifting his fingers over the Pasmo scanner to pass through the metro gate.

 

Outside the station the wind is brisk, the streetlights glaring like tiny LED suns against the black hole of the sky. No chance of seeing the moon tonight. _Good._ He doesn’t need the heavens passing judgment on him either.

 

His left hand closes around the charms in his pocket, bare fingertips brushing over the embroidered omamori. The energy radiating from them is almost scalding, but in a good way—like someone took sheets fresh out of the dryer and draped them over his shoulders, like a blanket. _Reassuring—_

 

The scent of overly sweet flowers saturated with smoke has him reaching for the worn leather handles of his tanto blades.

 

It’s _November_. This one could at least _try_ to assimilate.

 

It takes Keith less than a moment to yank his energy up through his chakras, the maneuver like blindly threading seven familiar needles. He draws a glowing triangular glyph in the air before gently pushing at its center, expanding it outwards into an aural barrier. It hovers, mostly translucent, a few centimeters above his skin. Letting out a sigh, he walks deeper into the cesspool of scented smoke.

 

The smell can’t harm him due to the barrier spell he cast, but the fact that he remains unaffected is bound to catch the demon’s attention eventually. _He’ll make this quick._ He draws a dimly glowing circle parallel to the ground and another above it, pinching them together before pulling the top one up to form a cylinder. He pushes the base upwards with two fingers, igniting the spell.

 

A second barrier activates, slamming into place around the street intersection. It pulls the smoke in, preventing it from diffusing further, and draws the attention of its source.

 

It turns to him, joints oddly silent considering how elderly its aura feels—a smog of spiderwebs. Keith pushes past the sudden swell of nausea at the power he senses through that smog. _A legendary relic, trembling with ancient power._ The type of thing best left untouched.

 

Unfortunately, Keith needs the bounty for his rent for the next three months. So he has to—well, he doesn’t have to _touch_ the demon, but he’s got to get pretty damn close. So he rips the glamoured image of it away and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

 

It’s a… chimaera, of sorts, and it’s _massive._ Part of its legs and torso are skeletal, the— he narrows his eyes— _flesh_ around it charred, but… reforming. The scent of ash gets stronger.

 

_“You,”_ the chimaera-like being rasps in Japanese, _“witchling, turn back now—”_

 

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he interrupts. His right hand grips his sword hilt, the enchanted blade humming with magical power. His left hand drifts back into his pocket, the charms’ energy sending sparks over his skin, and loops his fingers through a strand, pulling out a small omamori.

 

He invokes the first rite. “Mizaru.”

 

The demon howls as the omamori explodes into light, the magic rendering it blind. The snake head starts spitting haphazardly, globs of poisonous acid causing the pavement to sizzle. Keith steps to avoid the sizzling patch near his feet and breaks into a run, the next rite rolling off his lips. “Kikazaru.”

 

The omamori burns brighter, spewing out sparks as he closes the distance. Seeing his opportunity, he ignores the stench of ash and takes a deep breath. On the exhale, he activates the spell on his boots, leaping up over the demon’s head, placing a glyph on the dragon’s head, and severing the snake head in a clean stroke. He risks laying one prepared trap glyph on the ground before using his boots to speed away.

 

It glances at the lost head in dismay before turning to him curiously. _“What kind of witchling are you?”_ it asks, the humanoid face tilting to the side in interest. The dragon and lion heads flash their teeth at him. It must still be able to sense him despite its blindness.

 

Unintimidated, Keith shrinks the diameter of the area barrier. “Not the ordinary kind.” His boots, hovering a few inches off the ground, glide along a zigzag path towards the demon. The magic pulses from the soles, responsive to his wishes as he speeds forward. He leaps up again, maybe six feet and turns into a flip, activating the glyph on the dragon’s head and cleaving off the lion’s.

 

The dragon’s maw opens, but it’s unable to produce flame. It snaps its teeth at him, but he sees it coming and his boots yank him, upside down, another few feet into the air, out of reach of the remaining heads. He takes a moment to right himself and shrink the barrier further, so that he’s no longer in it. “Iwazaru,” he says, invoking the final rite.

 

A scream erupts from the demon as the omamori flares white hot, the three wise monkeys’ glyphs bursting into existence on the barrier. The cylinder shrinks until it’s about the size of a quiver of arrows. The demon, still inside, has been reduced to a very small chimaera. It appears to have all its heads, meaning this is likely the afterimage—the demon has been successfully banished, and this part of its consciousness will soon fade.

 

Keith lowers himself until his boots touch pavement again, deactivating the spell on them. He walks over to the floating cylinder and loops the omamori around it, careful not to touch it. Sheathing his sword, he bends down to press the pentagrams on either side of his boots. The residual magical energy—from the spells he used and the demon’s magic—flows into them, adding to the charge. After a minute the charge slows to a stop and he deactivates the spell, plucking the cylinder from the air. He lets out a grunt.

 

“How in the hell are you this heavy?” he mutters, hastily drawing a long, thin rectangle and affixing it to the cylinder like a strap.

 

“That’s offensive.”

 

Keith startles at the distinctly _feminine_ voice but doesn’t let go of the strap. “Is that so,” he manages to reply.

 

The heads all perk up, the humanoid one cracking open an eye. “I’ll let it slide, on one condition.”

 

He scoffs. “That I let you roam free? Hell no.”

 

“So you’re not opposed to a bargain,” it says instead.

 

Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he starts walking back towards the station, picking up his unused trap glyph on the way. “I like to keep my options open.”

 

The demon’s heads simultaneously huff a laugh. “Ah.” It settles down, becoming more sullen. “Where are we going?”

 

“To claim your bounty.”

 

****

 

_21:04_

 

The Dragon’s Den is dark save for the light shining down the stairs in the back and the string lights dangling over the bar. Guild regulars are out hunting bounties, the few that aren’t on a request gathering around the bar counter.

 

Their conversation ceases as the door thuds shut behind him. He ignores the stares and mutterings, striding unfazed across the tiled floor to the stairs.

 

He supposes it’s the same old skepticism. _Why is he, a non-guild member, frequenting a guild’s base? More specifically,_ **_this_ ** _guild’s base?_

 

Well, it doesn’t concern them, but it has to do with his agreement with the appraiser on the second floor. The agreement allows him to freelance requests without guild attachment, in addition to getting his captures appraised _and_ cash rewards authorized.

 

Keith steps onto the second floor landing. Unlike the first floor, the second is well lit, the walls lined with covered fluorescent lights. The sudden brightness forces him to squint until he finds the familiar archway. He goes inside.

 

Barron sits at his desk, a large U-shape of Japanese maple in the center of the room, perusing paperwork. He doesn’t acknowledge Keith’s entry in any way—he doesn’t look up or make a witty remark— doesn’t make a sound.

 

Keith walks up to the desk and plunks the cylinder down, forcing Barron to look up.

 

The appraiser blanches. “The hell is this, Red?”

 

“So your name’s Red,” the demon interjects, still rather sullen.

 

Keith slaps the bounty request down next to the cylinder, ignoring it. “I completed the request from the guild board.”

 

Barron steels his expression into a frown, though the side quirks up like he wants to smile. “Kazu is going to murder you.”

 

Keith fights to keep his expression neutral. “He's going to murder me for taking the bounty and you for giving it to me,” he says calmly, hoping he's gauged the situation correctly.

 

Barron lets out a sigh, his fingers skittering over his desk to pull up the bounty record. The magical file pops up on an opaque screen that hovers a few centimeters above the papers on his desk. He skims it for the aural scan, eyes flashing back and forth until he finds it. Swiping the file aside, he slides on his gloves and touches the cylinder to appraise it. He hastily recoils, swearing in Korean.

 

“Yep, that's the one,” he says hoarsely as the demon smirks. He mutters under his breath to summon a cylinder of his own and puts Keith's container inside. He recites the three rites and proceeds to ward the container in runes. “Red…” Barron says quietly, inscribing a final rune on the lid that vaguely resembles a mute symbol. He sets the container aside with a grimace. “Kazu’s _team_ was out on this request _._ ”

 

“Kazu knows the rules,” Keith replies, mouth curling into a scowl. First one to turn in the capture for appraisal—team _or_ solo— with a copy of the original bounty request gets the reward. Unless Kazu was smart enough to formally stake a claim for his team (which he definitely was _not_ ), the bounty was his _._

 

The appraiser’s expression turns carefully calm. “The reward’s shot up since last night.”

 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “How much?”

 

Barron shrugs. “Only half a million yen.”

 

Keith blinks. Rent for the next three months? Done. For the next year? Done. Holy shit. _Kazu no longer exists._ He extends his hand forward, palm up. “The seal,” he says, trying not to sound too eager.

 

The appraiser hands it over, the digital certificate stamped and officialized. “You can release the spell now.”

 

After a nod, he severs his ties to the cylinder and accepts the seal. He presses his fingertips to it, offering his magical signature, and tucks it into his jacket.

 

“Scram.” Barron’s voice is friendly, and he offers Keith a lighthearted wave.

 

He walks out of the Dragon’s Den with another demon on his conscience and a million yen richer.

 

****

 

_22:48_

 

The wind roars at him, frigid air seeping through to the bone. It’s cold at night in November at ground level, and Keith questions why he thought being 450 meters in the air would be any different.

 

Cold steel presses into his back, the Tokyo lights blinking beneath his boots. He likes the city more this way—less busy, less noise, fewer people—Skytree is quieter at night, especially after closing.

 

The color-shifting LEDs are purple this evening, the shade an ever-present reminder that his glamour is necessary. He reaches out of reflex for the silver dragon earring that wraps around his right ear. It’s covered by his hair, lessening the chances of it being a) seen and b) identified as a source of a shitton of glamour magic.

 

In daylight his marks might pass as tattoos, the raised indentations the shade of indigo just before it hits black. Once it’s dusk, the marks transform from their indigo state to iridescent freckles with luminescence usually only seen under a blacklight.

 

They’re constellations—just not from any currently mapped universe.

 

(He’s looked.)

 

Since tattoos have stigma in Japan, he glamours them away to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. It’s a spell he’s been reinforcing since he got the earring at thirteen—one that erases the marks from the eyes of others and extinguishes their light in the darkness, in addition to masking his aura.

 

Initially, it took some trial and error—days when he had a self-imposed curfew of four in the afternoon—until he realized he needed an illusory element (to alter the outward perception) _and_ a containing element (for the emitted light at night). That took a couple weeks of studying light, perception, and refraction. Later, he adapted the illusory element to apply to both his marks and his general presence.

 

A sudden gust of wind causes his to eyes water. Blinking to clear the moisture, he gets to his feet, standing in one of the triangles of steel with the wind threatening to topple him. It makes him wish for wings, so he can fly. It makes him wish for— _Shiro._

 

The loneliness burns, a searing heat against the cold and Keith, unable to bear it, leaps out into the night sky.

 

If the wind is whistling, he cannot hear it. The memories are too strong, too loud. _His laughter. A smile. Reassurances. Warm, back-breaking, rib-crushing hugs. Making onigiri together. Like a brother._

 

_Lost._

 

The tears vanish into the night, unseen. He triggers the spell on his boots, the magic jolting him into a standing position. His harsh descent slows until he hovers on his own magical plateau meters above the nearest building.

 

His bare fingertips hover over his chest, sensing leftover emotions, and he breaks into a run in the general direction of his house, his footfalls heavy in the air.

  
He runs until it’s no longer clear if he was crying from emotion or from the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not pictured: Kazu throwing a mildly amusing semi-magical tantrum about an "inexperienced brat" taking his "rightfully deserved bounty" and Barron letting slip that the reward rose. Barron tries not to laugh. He really does.
> 
> ABOUT THE MAGIC  
> -The three rites are based on the three wise monkeys: Mizaru (see no evil), Kikazaru (hear no evil), and Iwazaru (speak no evil). Invoking the rites is Keith's method for banishing demons. There are other ways to do this as well. We're getting to that. 
> 
> -Keith's boots are inspired by the gravity boots in Jupiter Ascending.
> 
> -Keith's marks: sort of like Drax from Guardians of the Galaxy (esp. in terms of texture/indentation), but instead of the marks being interconnected, more like freckles.
> 
> -Scene of Keith falling off of Skytree appears similar to the aesthetic fall of Dazai off a building in the Bungou Stray Dogs season one anime opening.
> 
> I am on tumblr as [pinevillagegirl](https://pinevillagegirl.tumblr.com) and (as of July 2017) on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> More info about the au (including character profiles!!) is available on my sideblog, [tempuradonburi](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/stardust), and questions about it can be directed [here](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/ask)


	2. they say California is a recipe for a black hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance, Hunk, and Pidge face a powerful demon, check in with Coran, and plan world domination—I mean, world _travel_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the others' adventure begin.
> 
> Chapter title from Rilo Kiley's _Pictures of Success._

_San Francisco_

_17:02_

 

Lance hovers on his broomstick above the city lights, toggling the focus dials of his enchanted binoculars. He dims the city’s glare to a medium grey and tones down the white burn of the ley lines. The magical power grid crisscrossing through the city is… well, _magical,_ but it’s distracting. He keeps adjusting until they register as an even darker grey. He focuses a final dial, amplifying magical energy signatures, and watches the world explode into color.

 

Those with magical power show as colored auras. The brighter the aura, the more magical power a person has. Sometimes the number of colors in it is also an indicator. The trick to spotting demons is watching for flares—unusual auras that spike unexpectedly, those that rise and fall irregularly.

 

Rapid changes are a sign of demonic activity, typically them trying to fit in and match the auras of those around them to avoid being discovered. They can assume human or animal guises, or, if powerful enough, they can stay in their original form (in some cases, without a physical body) and simply use glamour.

 

Glamour doesn’t erase everything, though. Auras that have too many colors are like a signal flare, and the stench that demons bring with them from their realm is pretty damning. Unless it’s smart enough to hide it well, the smell is a dead giveaway.

 

Lance toggles the zoom, scanning over the city for magical irregularities. He scans the east first, then the south, raking his gaze over the horizon before turning north, glancing over the Golden Gate Bridge.

 

He immediately swings over towards more cloud cover, drawing a thicker layer of glamour over himself on the way, and presses his silver cuff earring, opening the magical comm channel. “There’s a _cluster_ heading towards the bridge.”

 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Pidge deadpans, their sarcasm splintering Lance’s tension into smithereens.

 

“Language!” Hunk chides, his nervousness mostly hidden by his laugh.

 

“Quit quoting star-spangled Steve at me, I’ll swear however I fucking please.”

 

Lance snorts at Pidge’s nickname for Captain America, continuing to observe the cluster through the binoculars. “Pidgeon, do you have visual?”

 

Pidge sighs over the comm. “No, I can _not_ see the demons yet. You literally _just_ told me where they are. And this is not a spy movie, Lance, quit asking me if I have 'visual.’”

 

Lance angles his broom in Pidge's direction, easily zeroing in on their magical aura, a web of forest greens and pale gold. “This is definitely a spy movie, Pidgeon. Hunk, back me up!”

 

“It’s a little like a spy movie,” Hunk says helpfully.

 

Lance sighs, tugging his jacket hood up and lying flat against his broom, shrinking the area of his glamour. He tracks the cluster, the sparks tracing a snake-like path towards the bridge. While it had previously been only sparking black, white, and red energy, it’s now emitting something resembling high voltage electrical pulses. “How quickly can you guys get here?” he asks, shrugging off the binoculars and stuffing them in one of his jacket pockets.

 

“Lance, _no,_ ” Hunk warns him.

 

“It went from producing teeny sparks to big energy pulses in less than half a second,” he argues, fumbling for his aura ward charm and making sure the spell is engaged.

 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Pidge scoffs. “Okay. Hunk, boost me.”

 

The pause is enough for Lance to recognize Hunk’s reluctance. “You want to be boosted? Again?”

 

Pidge cackles. “It was fun.” There’s a pause. “Come on, we’ve got demons to kill.”

 

Lance taps the runes on his charm bracelets, activating his sense-enhancing spells. He's got about seven seconds before Pidge blasts up into the sky like a reverse bolt of green lightning—seven seconds before the demons notice their magical energy and pounce. So he twists his ring, bringing his glowing recurve bow into his right hand, using his left to pull the string to just under his jaw. He has his three usual combination spells nocked and ready to fire when Pidge strikes into the sky past the cloud line, a blur of emerald.

 

The demons swarm in their direction, almost faster than Lance’s enhanced vision can track. But he takes a deep breath, targets the center, and releases the spells, watching them fly. They collide with the cluster in a blast of blue fire.

 

The mass rotates towards him, screeching, sending out shockwaves that bounce off his aura ward, denting it. It’s not a cluster of demons, it’s _just one._ He shifts off his broomstick, falling just slightly before it appears under his feet, fitting neatly into the arches of his sneakers. Gliding easily and quickly away from the mass, he begins to circle it.

 

Another burst of blue fire rocks the sky as his next spell—a sense-inhibiting one—hits its mark. “This entire thing is one demon!” he announces through the comm. He rakes his eyes across it, scanning for weaknesses, and upon not seeing any, heaves a sigh. “Commencing Operation Good Old Purification,” he says calmly, leaving no room for argument. “Hunk, Pidgeon, where you at?”

 

“Incoming!” Pidge yells in response. Lance’s enhanced vision switches focus, zooming in on them sailing through the air as though they’ve just jumped from a great height. Their double-bladed staff, Rover, is gripped in both hands and held above their head, the end blades crackling with high voltage.

 

Lance raises his left arm and chants, summoning water from a cloud as he drifts by on his broomstick. It spirals down to his shoulder, creating a shimmering sleeve that he forces into a loop. He lets go of his bow as he extends his right arm, pulling what light energy he can from the remaining sunset.

 

“Pidge, I’m appearing in front of you in T minus twenty seconds,” Hunk responds. “And Lance, for the record, I think this is Operation Outrageously Dangerous Purification.”

 

Lance tries really hard not to laugh as he continues chanting, pooling the light energy with part of his reserves and creating a smaller, white loop. Lastly, he draws an even smaller glowing sphere, charging it with a blast of his aural energy. Pushing the white loop into the watery one and the sphere into the center, he binds and seals the spell. “We’re gonna clear you a path, Pidgeon!” he calls, summoning his bow and nocking the layered spell.

 

“Any second now!” they yell back.

 

Lance can hear the sizzle of them charging Rover with magic through the comm. He targets the top of the writhing mass and breathes in a deep breath. On the exhale, he lets the spell fly.

 

The demon shifts in an attempt to avoid it, but finds itself trapped in a sphere of water. It tries to breach the barrier but recoils, howling, steam curling over the cloud. Black spatters pepper the inside, dissipating into nothing as the light ring bursts, sending out a wave of purification magic.

 

Hunk drops out of a portal in front of Pidge. “Your aura shield?” He asks them, his layer of yellow and orange energy expanding to cover both of them. He angles his triangular chi shield to serve as the point of impact.

 

“Fucking aura shields!” they complain before muttering a thank you to Hunk. The two of them plunge straight for the center of the mass.

 

The final layer of Lance’s spell detonates, a wave of cerulean energy tearing a gaping hole in the middle of the demon. “It likes electricity!” He calls out in a final attempt to warn them.

 

Pidge just laughs. “Good thing I do too!” They say, disappearing after Hunk into the space cleared by Lance’s spell. They start humming something, a tune that sounds vaguely familiar as flashes of magic explode inside the sphere.

 

Lance readies another shielding spell, awaiting word. The demon cloud has shrunk significantly in size, and is peppered with spikes of magical energy from his friends. “Guys, how’s the forecast look?”

 

“Cloudy with a hundred percent chance of exorcism,” Hunk reports calmly. “Pidge, is that the Star Trek theme?”

 

Pidge starts [singing](https://youtu.be/BlHyt_I1rFc?t=2m25s) instead. “DUNNNN dahhh dannn dah duh DUNNNNN dah dahhhh duh dah DUNNNNNN, dah dahhh duh dah DUNNNNNNNN~”

 

_“Stars,”_ the demon rasps, thrashing against its watery container. _“You speak of the stars, not knowing what they hold.”_

 

A swath of golden energy erupts from the sphere, forcing the demon to back down. _That would be Hunk._ Lance zooms over on his broomstick, easily entering his water barrier.

 

Pidge’s hair is frizzy, Rover still shooting off sparks. They straighten when they see Lance,  offering him a grin. Hunk has both hands extended towards the demon, his gloves lying discarded at the bottom of the sphere. His tattoos of the Eye of Horus radiate chi magic at a level that must be stifling for the demon. “Stars or not, I’m still going to banish you,” he says to it.

 

_“There will be others,”_ it responds resignedly. _“Your world has what we seek.”_

 

Pidge scoffs, brandishing Rover in front of them, the blades still crackling and smoking. “You mean you want something else _besides_ magical energy?” They ask, swinging an end blade up just short of the demon.

 

_“The child of the ether is among you yet.”_

 

Hunk sighs. “We’re done here,” he declares, amplifying his chi magic. The layer of gold blazes brighter as he recites the Arabic scripture. _“Farther than the Pleiades; I will rise upon ashes, and roll upon stones; faster than fate; memories will fade. Leave evil, it will leave you. Leave evil, it will leave you.”_

 

Lance nudges Pidge. “The energy, Pidgeon.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. On it,” they answer. With a flick of their wrist Rover’s spark-shooting halts, and another flick retracts the blades. There’s an almost inaudible hiss of metal as the gears shift, an empty cartridge replacing the energy-charged one. “Hunk, whenever you’re ready!”

 

A flash of white booms within the chi barrier, indicating the successful banishing of the demon. “Pidge, you’re up!” Hunk calls, shrinking the barrier into a funnel before letting the demon’s energy flow out.

 

Pidge brandishes Rover in front of them, the cartridge compartment open and aimed to receive the demonic energy. Their hands brace on either side of the compartment, fingers splayed and knees bent against the force of the magic. The cartridge starts to glow, Hunk's funnel shrinking as the demon's residual energy is directed into it.

 

There's a breath of silence as the funnel dissipates. Rover’s cartridge compartment hisses shut, the glow of the magic hidden but not totally muted by the warding.

 

“Just _how_ powerful was that one?” Hunk says, retrieving his gloves and wiping his forehead.

 

Lance shrugs, gesturing in Rover’s direction. “We’ll see.”

 

Pidge grins, collapsing Rover further and affixing it to their back strap. “Coran is gonna love this.”

 

****

 

_17:59_

 

The San Francisco Institute of Magic’s campus is quiet as Lance, Hunk, and Pidge make their way to Coran’s lab.

 

“Do we have to give the sample to him now?” Lance complains, broomstick dangling loosely in his right hand. “I’d rather eat dinner first.”

 

“Now, Lance,” Pidge scolds in a fake parental tone, “you know very well that the potency of demonic magic deteriorates at a half-life proportional to its power level-”

 

“Overruled,” Lance interrupts, an easy smirk on his face. “Hunk, what’s for dinner?”

 

“Well, I was thinking we could order pizza…?”

 

“You can’t just ignore science, Lance,” Pidge responds, frowning, and points to the sign on the building they’ve just arrived at. _Alvarez Science Center._ “You can’t escape it, either. See?” they say, pulling open the door. “Also, yes to pizza.”

 

“This is _magical_ science, though,” Lance argues. “That’s at least partially an oxymoron.”

 

Pidge smirks. “ _You’re_ a moron.”

 

Lance feigns shock, aiming to poke them with the end of his broomstick but they dodge. “Rude!”

 

“Guys, we’re here,” Hunk says, pointing to the plaque on the door. ‘The Coranic’ is painted in elegant script, a testament to his artistic ability.

 

Pidge bursts through the door without delay. “We’re back!” they announce brightly, slinging Rover off as Lance and Hunk follow them inside the lab.

 

Coran turns from his position at the far counter, revealing test tubes and beakers containing glowing substances. “Hello, Pidge!” He responds, pulling off his gloves and muttering a charm to pause his experimenting. “Hunk, Lance,” he greets, striding over to meet them at the island terminal in the center.

 

“Why was I last?” Lance mutters quietly as the door falls shut behind them.

 

Hunk snorts. “You’re here the least often,” he chides in a whisper.

 

“Just because I attend quidditch practice doesn’t mean I’m not devoted to the magical sciences,” Lance returns, causing Hunk to laugh.

 

“We know,” he says, offering Lance a gentle fist-bump before joining Pidge and Coran at the island.

 

Rover hisses open, and Pidge plucks the glowing cartridge from the container. They hand it to Coran, who holds it up in one hand delicately. “Let’s see what the team managed to wrangle this time,” he says, stroking his mustache with his empty hand.

 

He presses a few keys at the terminal, bringing up a magic-tight container and places the cartridge into the holder inside. After closing the lid and the lock clicks into place, he starts the scan. “Initiate analysis,” he orders.

 

The cartridge pops open, releasing the stored magical energy. Lance elbows Pidge, knowing they have the Sight—a rare ability that allows them to see auras and through glamour without using magic. “Pidgeon, what’re you seeing?”

 

Pidge sighs and flicks their wrist, popping out one of Rover’s end blades. “There’s a lot of yellow-gold swirling around here,” they say, gesturing with the tip. _Hunk’s magical signature._ Coran motions to his notepad and pen, which starts making note of their observations.

 

“It’s threaded with varying shades of blue, from typical sky to the ocean at night,” Pidge continues. _That would be Lance’s magic._ They shift the blade to point at the other side of the container. “There’s a mass of green here, and a red-gray amoeba stuck in the center.”

 

“Oh!” Hunk lights up, turning to Coran. “Right before I banished the demon, it mentioned something about an ethereal child—no, that’s not what it said—the ‘child of the ether,’ I think?” He pauses, considering. “Yeah, that was it. Does that sound familiar?”

 

Coran raises an eyebrow. “Nope, but I’ll get right on it. Should have an answer for you by Monday’s class.” He summons his notepad over, squinting at his notes and then back at the container.

 

A ping sounds from the terminal. “Analysis complete,” it says, projecting the results onto a dual-sided panel so all of them can see.

 

Hunk and Pidge squint at the screen while Lance turns to Coran. Based on the man’s surprised expression, he frowns. “Was it a class four?” he asks, recalling that class three types usually can’t maintain the cloud state for that long.

 

“Yes, Lance,” Coran says slowly, “that _was_ a class four demon.” He continues to skim the report.

 

Lance whoops excitedly. “We done did it!” he exclaims, double high-fiving Hunk.

 

“Coran,” Pidge interjects, “the way the demon talked about the ether child made it sound realllllly important. Like, ‘more important than consuming magical energy’ level important.”

 

Coran frowns, fingers drifting to twirl his mustache while he thinks. “That isn’t good,” he finally declares. “Make sure your energy recovers fully before going out anywhere else tonight, kids.”

 

“Aye aye, Captain Coran,” Hunk says, offering a salute before turning to Lance and Pidge. “So… no carryout special on pizza, but we can still order delivery.”

 

A small boom sounds from the far corner of the room, a cloud of brown smoke wafting towards the ceiling. It makes the room smell vaguely of citrus.

 

The three of them turn to look at Coran, who smiles sheepishly. “Magic waits for no one,” he says, using his air manipulation to push the odor back towards the source. “Pidge, I’ll see you after class on Monday for research lab?”

 

Pidge nods, and the trio takes that as their signal to leave. “See you Monday, Coran!” Lance says, closing the lab door behind them.

 

“So…” Hunk says, clapping his hands together, “after pizza, where to?”

 

Lance grins. “Karaoke.”

 

Pidge smacks their forehead. “Lance, not _again_ -”

 

“Pidgeon, I wasn’t done,” Lance continues, grinning almost devilishly. “Karaoke. In Japan.”

 

Pidge scowls before considering. “Kaitenzushi. Your treat. That’s my final offer.”

 

“How hungry are you?”

 

_“Lance,”_ Hunk says. “Remember the last time we were in Tokyo?”

 

“....Fine.”

 

It’s Pidge’s turn to grin deviously. “I am _very_ hungry,” they say, causing a chill to skitter over Lance’s skin.

 

“Spare my wallet,” he pleads.

 

“No promises.”

 

“Is that a no on the pizza?” Hunk asks.

 

“Can’t say no to pizza,” Lance says. “It’s a… pizza appetizer. An a-pizza-tizer.”

 

Pidge and Hunk share a look before bursting into laughter. “No, Lance,” Pidge says.

 

“A-pizza-tizer,” he repeats.

 

“It’s not going to stick,” Pidge warns.

 

Lance tries again. “A-pizza-tizer!”

 

This time, Hunk snorts. “A-pizza-tizer,” he says quietly, before grinning along with Lance.

 

Pidge groans exaggeratedly. “Not you too!”

 

Lance and Hunk turn to look at them.

  
“Don’t look at me, I am _not_ saying a-pizza-tizers! …Damn it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Pidge.
> 
> Also, if someone has a suggestion of different or more correct Arabic proverbs, please, _please_ let me know.
> 
> ABOUT THE MAGIC  
> \- Pidge's weapon: modeled after the dualsaber (double-bladed lightsaber): it's a double-bladed staff combined with (from How to Train Your Dragon 2 movie) the cartridge design of Hiccup's sword. Plus other tech-y features to come!
> 
> I am on tumblr as [pinevillagegirl](https://pinevillagegirl.tumblr.com) and (as of July 2017) on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> More info about the au (including character profiles!!) is available on my sideblog, [tempuradonburi](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/stardust), and questions about it can be directed [here](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/ask)


	3. all I'll ever be is partly settled in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afternoon in the life of Keith. A look into his past, with a side of... unexpected results?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Float_ by The Neighbourhood.

_Tokyo_

 

_13:27_

 

Keith slips quietly out of his house, passing through his layered wards and crossing the empty road. He looks up at the sky—a clear, crisp blue, and frowns.

 

The sun already feels like it’s setting.

 

 _That's because it is,_ an inkling of a fact resurfaces in his mind. It rises and sets earlier, the star disappearing behind the horizon at around 16:30 now.

 

He heads for the supermarket, the sound of metro cars trundling across the rails in the distance the heavy, steady ka-thunk of a pulse. That itself could be a bit magical, he thinks, a breeze whistling by. It carries the distinct scent of beer and sashimi wrapped in purple lightning, indicating Kazu is nearby.

 

Keith sighs and keeps walking, carefully monitoring his aura's glamoured appearance. He's encased his glamoured earring in a ward, hiding the amount of magic it contains. It presents his aura as a slowly but steadily fluctuating dull red.

 

The purple lightning-sashimi-beer scent only gets more pungent as Keith continues down the street.

 

He doesn’t really have anything against Kazu, not really. The guy's proficient in elemental magic, specializing in controlling fire and electric currents. But since Keith successfully completed his first bounty request at seventeen, a request that Kazu swears _he_ took, Keith’s pretty sure Kazu resents him.

 

And, because the bounty had a considerable reward, probably intended to be split amongst a team of three—incidentally, the size of Kazu’s team—the resentment has stuck like a really benign but annoying curse.

 

Keith ducks into the produce shop, pushing the irritating thoughts of Kazu away. The first thing he does, after making sure he's out of sight of the door is relax his glamour just slightly. Enough so that people can sense his presence.

 

He picks up a small basket from the stack inside and snags a pineapple and a small bag of oranges. A package of three cucumbers and a head of cabbage are quick to follow. A small ginger root and half a daikon sit precariously on top.

 

Keith wishes the baskets were bigger, but rescinds his complaint upon seeing his total at just under 1000 yen. He waves away the proffered plastic bag and pulls out a prepared cylinder glyph, tapping the base to ignite the spell.

 

The cylinder expands so it resembles a shopping bag. Keith piles his produce into it, tucks it under his arm, and drifts his hand over the credit card scanner to pay. He heads out of the store and walks straight into Kazu.

 

Not in the mood for what’s likely another confrontation, Keith decides to keep the conversation brief. He moves out of the way of the store doors before speaking. “Can I help you?”

 

Kazu smiles mirthlessly. “Perhaps.” He pulls a scroll from the inside of his long, black coat, flicking a finger at it to unfurl the paper. “Does this look familiar?”

 

Keith squints at the printing. It’s a request flyer… identical to the one for last night’s capture. He grimaces. “Yes, it does look familiar.”

 

“Of course it looks familiar! Another request you fucking stole from the Talon!”

 

Kazu’s team, the Talon, was popular both within and outside the Black Dragon Guild. Back when Keith had first encountered the guild about nine years prior, the Talon team had five members. They would go after notoriously difficult demons, and had a eighty percent success rate. Until the night the guild’s old headquarters in Ebisu were sacked by a cluster of class four and five demons.

 

Shiro had taken Keith out for a nice, celebratory dinner, but had gotten a request from the academy to investigate a nearby magical energy imbalance. So, cutting off dessert, the two of them took off for the Black Dragon Guild.

 

There were ten, maybe twelve demons in total that ransacked the guild’s headquarters. Shiro had gone inside to help, instructing Keith to stay outside and try to keep humans away from the demons. And he tried, but adults always had trouble taking a twelve year old boy seriously. So they went, and got closer, and closer, and then, of course, a demon escaped the building.

 

It was the first time Keith realized how powerful glamour could be, because the humans didn’t notice it. It was large, nearly the size of an elephant but with the agility of a cheetah. It was the kind of thing that would terrify most people.

 

But Keith wasn’t most people. Casting a barrier spell like he’d been taught in class, he separated the humans from the demon and started a chant invoking the three wise monkeys. He drew a glyph shaped like a sword and another like a shield, granting himself a weapon and protection, and edged closer to the demon.

 

A man appeared in the hole the demon tore through the building, shouting spells in another language. The beast turned towards him, and Keith saw its true shape through a flicker in its glamour: darkness swirling around a figure of a man. Keith still isn’t sure how he moved to cover something like forty meters in a nanosecond, but he did, sliding in front of the man in the doorway and stabbing the sword, up, up through the dark man’s ribcage. The demon’s aura exploded violently, erasing part of Keith’s glamour and revealing his stars, glowing for all the world to see. But he slid the sword through to the other side anyway, successfully killing and banishing it.

 

That night, Talon lost two members. One was the man Keith had killed, who had been possessed beyond the point of returning. His name was Aki, short for Toshiaki, and he was the guild leader’s brother. The other man Keith saved was Barron, who quit the Talon team and assumed the position of guild appraiser.

 

Upon emerging from the rubble, Shiro had cloaked Keith in glamour and managed to convince those who saw that the stars were merely part of a spell. But Kazu had already seen Keith and what he’d done, and Keith figures that suspicion still lingers, probably made worse due to his agreement with Barron.

 

So maybe the appraiser favors Keith a little bit. The possible existence of slight favoritism doesn’t explain Kazu’s complaints, especially since Keith follows the rules. It’s not like he goes on demon-hunting sprees and ‘snatches others’ rightful bounties’ from under their noses.

 

“I’m not stealing _your_ requests if they aren’t yours in the first place,” Keith says. “Requests are open to anyone. I just-”

 

“Happened to be in the right place at the right time?” Kazu supplies bitterly.

 

“Needed the money for my rent,” Keith bites out, getting a bit of satisfaction at Kazu’s surprised expression.  “I’m never in the right place. The demons just do whatever the fuck they want.”

 

“For rent? You live in a mansion or something?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

Keith doesn’t realize he’s nearly shouted until the background noise grinds to a halt. “I’m just trying to make a living, Kazu,” he says, resigned. “But, if you _must know,_ I’m trying to keep a house. So when Shiro comes back, he still has somewhere to call home.”

 

It would be so easy for him to have said “in case Shiro comes back,” but doesn’t feel that Kazu is privy to that much emotion. Especially since Keith has been fighting to keep the positive, hopeful thoughts afloat.

 

Kazu pauses in consideration, and, after a moment, throws his hands up in defeat. “I’ll stake a claim next time,” he says.

 

Keith raises an eyebrow, confused, but chooses not to question it. “How’d you find me?”

 

“Right place, right time, Red.” Kazu throws a half-wave and walks away, taking his sashimi-beer-purple magic scent with him.

 

Heaving a sigh of relief and disbelief, Keith turns in the opposite direction and heads towards the fish market.

 

****

 

_14:43_

 

Keith eases his creaky front door shut with the tip of his boot, floating three cylinders’ worth of groceries over to his kitchen counter. Padding over to his computer terminal, he powers up his web radio.

 

The undertones of Japanese rock emerge from his speakers, one of the few stations he can count on to not play anything he doesn’t like.

 

He opens his fridge, slides all his meat and fish into an empty drawer and slaps a glyph on the plastic in the shape of an hourglass with an ‘X’ over it. Glancing to the side, he checks the charge on his other glyphs: one in the shape of a snowflake, to keep the contents cold, and the other a light bulb, that controls the backlighting. They appear intact, weeks, maybe two months left on them.

 

Keith has some of his appliances run on magic to cut down on electricity expenses. The fridge is easy to maintain, and so is the stove. He pulls out two cutting boards, plopping the pineapple on one and two cucumbers on the other. Using his magic, he draws a glyph that vaguely resembles a pineapple and sticks it on the fruit.

 

In a matter of seconds, the pineapple is skinned, cored, and neatly sliced. He pops a piece in his mouth, enjoying the tangy flavor, and opts to cut the cucumber by hand. Once he’s done slicing, he plops the cucumber on a plate and drizzles some soy sauce over top, crunching through the snack.

 

An electronic melody fades out, only to be replaced by one of the announcers. Nomura is her name, if he recalls correctly.

 

“We interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcasting to bring you an announcement regarding a missing person’s case,” the she states in rapid-fire Japanese, unintelligible English present in the background.

 

Another voice filters in. “Hunk, is that the translation rune?” _It has a melodic, relaxed quality,_ Keith notes in the pause—likely confirming the activation of the spell before continuing. “Sorry for disrupting your usual routine,” the person continues, their English now overwritten by Japanese.

 

“Lance here, visiting from San Francisco. On behalf of my friend, Pidge, we are inquiring about the disappearance of a Matthew Holt.” The guy pauses to clear his throat. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a particularly recent case. It’s about six years old.”

 

Keith sighs, leaning back against the counter before the idea hits him like a shinkansen.

 

_Six years old._

 

He scrambles for his terminal, cranking up the volume on his speakers and starting a transcriber program.

 

“Matt Holt was seventeen when he went missing in the summer before he was going to study abroad at the University of Tokyo. He intended to pursue magical studies and astrophysics, continuing his research at the Garrison. We believe he was targeted because of his Sight ability. His extensive knowledge of the magical sciences and engineering capabilities may have also contributed.”

 

Keith nudges the terminal with his left hand, hastily bringing up the file with all of his compiled information about Shiro's disappearance. Another panel springs into existence, projecting the map and all his research. It's a file that's been in the works for six years, though most of the information was found in the first three.

 

Due to years of field experience fighting and capturing demons, Shiro was one of the top candidates for the Garrison program. A transnational organization, the faculty select hunters, researchers, witches, anyone that has a record of and continues to demonstrate “exceptional talent”—whatever that means—can be chosen. It’s so elite that applications aren’t accepted. Program coordinators reach out to potential students and not the other way around.

 

It’s seen, from what Keith understands, as a prestigious post-graduate program, where they can continue your education and provide additional training as well as set you up with guilds around the world. In the event that you want to start your own guild, they can walk you through the process and back you financially.

 

Shiro’s initial guild applications were dismissed because of flimsy excuses regarding his arm, but that didn’t stop him. He fought the discouragement, excelling in his magical studies and combat training at the academy. The Garrison invitation came as a surprise in the spring before he graduated.

 

By comparison, Keith was surprised and skeptical, especially since he dropped out of traditional magic schooling at sixteen. It was a tough choice, knowing staying in school is likely what Shiro would want for him—but knowing Shiro, and watching him push through the... _incident_ that cost him his arm, following his own path—Keith figured Shiro would forgive him if he left the magic academy to do the same.

 

After finally having a chance to do some self-exploration and experiment with his magic, Keith wasn't interested in being subjected to authority again. He found his way back to Barron, who on-and-off homeschooled him since then, patiently training him and letting him explore his magic. He’d starting taking guild requests as field training just after turning seventeen, under Barron’s supervision.

 

Around the time when he would have graduated from the academy, the invitation came. He supposes that it was _nice_ for the Garrison to recognize his magical talent. But at the same time, it posed a problem: they _recognized_ it, meaning he drew attention. Which increased the odds of his magical essence being discovered, an event that would start a chain reaction ending with him stuck in a magical lab as the experimentee instead of the researcher.

 

So he declined and moved on. Most people no longer knew him as Keith; he was Red, to ironically match the color he presented his magical aura as.

 

“We believe his disappearance to be the work of demons,” the radio continues. “With the number of rogue witches and covens dwindling, and our own investigation, we’re left with demons as the culprit, and a lot of unanswered questions.

 

“We’re hoping, as always, that we aren’t alone in this. That if this has happened to you, too—losing a loved one to demons, you aren’t alone.” There’s a pause, more muffled English and Japanese, before the person continues. “Please, if you have any relevant information, we’ll be in Ueno Park until sundown. Find us at your own risk, and thanks for listening. Lance out.”

 

There’s an obnoxiously loud click as the broadcast shifts back to the main announcing team. “Again, if you have any relevant information, the visitors will be at Ueno park until sunset this evening,” the first announcer states. “After a brief word from our sponsors, we’ll be returning to our song lineup for the rest of the afternoon.”

 

 _Ueno Park until sundown. Ueno Park until sundown._ Keith is back out the door, his heart thundering in tandem with the train cars in the distance. He pulls out his phone and taps the screen, putting through a call to Barron.

 

The connection goes through. “Black Dragon Guild. This is Barron, the appraiser, speaking. How can I help you?”

 

“Barron, I need a favor.”

 

“Name it,” he replies without hesitation.

 

“Can you guarantee your office as neutral ground?”

 

Barron sighs. “It's always neutral ground. Why do you need it?”

 

Keith's nails dig into his palm. “I need a place to meet some people about Shiro's disappearance,” he says, squinting his eyes shut. _Should he hope?_

 

“Red, I have a client arriving in two minutes, but you can have my office from four to seven.”

 

Keith exhales loudly in relief. “Thank you,” he says, cringing at how earnest he sounds.

 

“I'll see you at four.”

 

The line goes dead and Keith tucks his phone away, zipping his pocket shut before activating the spell on his boots. He leaps up, past the roof of the station and closes his eyes, feeling for the ley lines with his mind.

 

The white undercurrents of magic glow brightly behind his eyelids, and he blinks against the glare. The glow dims as he blinks again, clearing the grid from view but tracking the magical energy through his chakras. He shifts so his boots glide across a stream of energy heading towards Ueno Park.

  
Keith lets himself dare to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They meet next chapter!


	4. take it slow but don't warn me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge, Hunk, and Lance know the radio broadcast was just another long shot in a series of long shots.
> 
> Keith lives on taking long shots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited meeting! I hope I do it justice, guys. 
> 
> A special THANK YOU to those who have left kudos and subscribed?! Holy crap. It's amazing. Thank you, every single one of you. It means the world to know you're enjoying this too.
> 
> Chapter title from _12:51_ by The Strokes.

_Tokyo_

 

_15:49_

 

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge shiver as breezes roll through Ueno Park. The trio is lightly glamoured, enough to hide their appearances from most—even then, they are still hiding, sitting on the bamboo roof of the octagonal bentendo.

 

“No one’s come,” Hunk remarks, teeth chattering. He draws a small glyph in the shape of a flame and places it between his hands, bringing them close to his face—almost like in prayer.

 

Pidge huffs, pulling their knees up to their chest and crossing their arms on top. “Do you think anyone will?” Their eyes narrow before they sink their forehead down to rest on their arms.

 

“If we keep trying, of course we will!” Lance declares, the enchanted binoculars falling out of his hand to thump back against his chest. He stands, offering a smile before looking out at the horizon, his expression turning somber. “It isn’t as though this hasn’t happened to anyone else.”

 

There’s a silence that lasts longer than a moment. It stretches between them as a sort of loss that holds them together, stronger than superglue, than cement and magic itself. Maybe like strings of fate.

 

Lance pulls off the binoculars, handing them over to Pidge before slinging himself over his broom. “I’ll do another loop around the park. Keep the comm open, will you?” He walks off the edge of the roof and into the wind, gliding away.

 

Hunk opens his eyes, gazing over at Pidge. “I’m glad the station was understanding enough for us to borrow their broadcast,” he says softly, expanding a bit of his chi energy to drape over them like a blanket.

 

Pidge grumbles but sits up a little straighter. They adjust the dials on the binoculars. “We targeted a smaller audience this time,” they say matter-of-factly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we come up empty handed. Like in Seoul. Or London.”

 

Hunk makes a disapproving noise. “We have to keep trying,” he gently reminds them.

 

“Düsseldorf. Tangier. Reykjavík,” Pidge rattles off, even as they gaze through the binoculars. “Sapporo. Moscow. Manila. Cairo. Toron-”

 

“Shut it, Pidgeon,” Lance scolds over the comm. “Answers, especially about an older case are hard to find. They don’t just fall out of the sky on a silver platter.”

 

Pidge falls silent, squinting through the binoculars before casting them away, standing. “Holy cheese,” they say quietly. They unsling Rover, flicking their wrist to expand it to full length and cycle through cartridges.

 

“What?” Lance and Hunk say in unison, Lance zooming back to the bentendo. He slides off his broomstick, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the bamboo plating. “What is it, Pidgeon?”

 

They point towards the train station, the off-white building illuminated by the remaining sunlight. “Sometimes answers _do_ fall out of the sky.”

 

There’s another moment of silence. “Um, Pidge? Whatever it is you’re seeing, we can’t,” Hunk reminds them, ever so patient. “Describe what it is we’re looking for?”

 

“Aura, red jacket!” The air cartridge clicks into place.

 

“Pidgeon, more deets?” Lance asks them, but they’ve already leaped off the roof.

 

Their Converse sneakers kiss air as they speed aboard Rover toward the park’s east entrance, toward what _cannot possibly_ be another letdown. Not someone with an aura like _that_.

 

****

 

Keith touches down across the street from Ueno Station, deactivating the spell on his boots and cutting his tether to the ley lines. He dodges a crowd of people on his way inside the park, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Hopefully some kind of easily identifiable sign.

 

The guy had closed with _“find us at your own risk,”_ so it might be complicated. He sighs, wandering closer to the center of the park when a blur of green barrels into him, the impact nearly knocking his skull into concrete. Said impact is only prevented by his hasty reactivation of his boots.

 

“Whoops,” the person says, too casually. They peer up at him, swiping their light brown mop of hair back to only partially cover an undercut. Leaning off of him, they push their glasses further up their nose and grin like the Cheshire Cat. “Hello.”

 

Keith’s inner alarms are blaring. This person, whose grin is both endearing and slightly creepy, _shouldn’t be able to see him._ He frees himself, shooting backwards a good two meters before settling back to the ground. His hands drift in the direction of his swords as he eyes the staff they wield— _clearly_ a magical weapon. “Can I help you?” he manages to ask instead.

 

“By cheese and all that is holy, I damn well fucking hope so.”

 

He isn’t sure if he’s heard such a strange yet normal-sounding statement before. Checking his aura wards and glamour charms and finding them perfectly intact, he has to ask. “How can you see me?”

 

“Easy. I have the Sight,” the person replies, slinging the staff onto a back strap and dusting off their black athletic pants. “I see everything.”

 

Keith nods in understanding. Knowing they can see his weapons, he drops his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture. “Isn’t that annoying?” he asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

 

“Gods, yes,” the person replies, before tilting their head in thought. “Well, a lot of the time, anyway.”

 

Keith takes a single step closer. “You know Lance?” He uses the only name he recalls from the broadcast, and sees the flare of recognition.

 

“Do I?” The sarcasm is layered on those two words strongly enough to make Keith flinch. Upon seeing his reaction, they change tactics. “Yes, I know that person,” they say dismissively, before snorting a laugh at nothing. “Come on, you guys.” They point towards their ear, mouthing ‘Lance’ and another word he doesn’t catch. _Ah. A magical comm link._ “East entrance. Can’t miss us,” they continue before turning back to him. “I’m Pidge,” they say, extending a hand. “I come in peace.”

 

“Red,” Keith answers, taking a few steps closer and hesitantly shaking their hand. The hope coursing through his veins is stifling. “I heard the broadcast—you were there, right?”

 

Pidge nods furiously. They bite their lip, perhaps nervously, but don’t drop his gaze. “Matt’s my brother,” they say quietly, waiting for his reaction.

 

The words have been waiting to burst out of his chest since he heard the message. “Six years ago, I lost someone too.”

 

The words hang in the air between them, the admission much like ripping off a bandage to reveal a fading, knotted scar.

 

Pidge lets out a tiny gasp, their eyes shining with a revelation—not quite relief, but something equally relaxing. The tension falls off their shoulders and they step even closer, pulling him into a rib-crushing hug.

 

Keith is drowning. In another wave of hurt, reminded of his loss, but also in relief, knowing it isn’t just him. He returns the embrace, his fingers digging into the embroidery on the back of their jacket. The amounts of honesty and trust send his mind spinning—it’s been months since he was last hugged.

 

He barely registers the approaching footsteps, but blinks his eyes open, watching as two figures hurtle into focus.

 

“Oy, Pidgeon!” calls the one wearing dark blue jeans and a faded green jacket that flaps in the wind. They hold a broomstick loosely in their right hand and grin as they slow to a halt, shoes stumbling against concrete. “Who’s this?”

 

Keith blinks. The voice sounds familiar.

 

The other one, in a golden yellow thermal longsleeve shirt and an orange headband slides to a halt in front of him. They offer a wave in greeting before addressing Pidge. “You can let them go now,” they suggest.

 

The small, strong arms holding him in place release him, and Pidge retreats back a step towards the two others.

 

Keith’s lungs feel a bit squished, but the sensation isn’t unpleasant. He remembers to speak. “Red,” he says, by means of introduction. _Right. Introductions._ He offers his hand outward, letting his consciousness float up through his chakras, trying to open Ajna, the third eye.

 

The one with the headband steps forward eagerly. “I'm Hunk,” they say cheerfully, giving his hand a single, firm shake.

 

Keith takes mental notes. _Callouses, likely from knife training of some kind. Strength, both physical and magical. An old, borderline archaic power. Handheld magic. The sun’s warmth, crackling embers of an immortal flame, dandelions, dusk._ He files the information away as they step back.

 

“Lance,” the one with the broomstick says, releasing the handle to shake Keith’s hand. Charm bracelets clink and the coldness of silver rings press into Keith’s palm for all of a second and a half.

 

_Smooth skin, silky with callouses around the index and middle knuckles—probably an archer. Not handheld magic, but something else powerful and… clean. A lone cloud in a blue sky, submerged beneath ocean waves, sea salt, moonlight._

 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, the words feeling genuine. A brisk wind blows hair into his eyes, and he hastily pulls it back into something like a ponytail. His eyes flit to the people walking around them. “Can we move inside?”

 

“Do you have a place in mind?” Hunk asks, glancing around at the fading sunlight. “We wouldn’t mind getting out of the cold.”

 

Keith nods. Fumbling for his phone, he puts through another call to Barron.

 

“Black Dragon Guild. This is Barron-”

 

“It’s me,” Keith says. “Can I do an extraction?”

 

“I was wondering whether you’d just show up, but nothing is simple with you.” There’s a sigh on the other end of the line before Barron continues. “Since you’re not an official guild member, you can’t pop straight into my office. You’ll have to appear outside. That still work?”

 

Hunk frowns. “An extraction? Is that dangerous?”

 

“Fine by me,” Keith responds. “One minute. Don’t hang up.” He turns to the trio. “I can lock onto the magical essence of my contact at the Black Dragon Guild. His magic serves as an anchor so I can transport all of us to guild HQ with my magic. It’s quicker than walking-” Lance holds up his broomstick- “or flying.”   

 

“So… apparating, but with four people,” Lance concludes. There’s a pause before they continue, “like a reverse portkey that’s a person?”

 

Keith ransacks his brain to decipher the references but only gets vague images of Hogwarts. “Sure,” he finally replies.

 

“Like the transporter from the Enterprise,” Pidge adds. “But we have beaming control.”

 

“What happened to Scotty?” Hunk says nervously.

 

“Are you ready?” Keith interjects. His words create a slightly miffed silence, but he holds the phone back up to his ear, muttering “stand by” before ending the call. Mustering his magical energy, he draws a thin, glowing triangle and taps the bottom. The shape expands and settles against the ground.

 

“I use glyph magic too!” Hunk exclaims, offering Keith a smile. “What do we need to do?”

 

Keith points to the corners. “Stand at the corners, feet inside the shape. Hold arms crisscrossed,” he directs.

 

“This isn’t some random trust exercise, is it?” Lance asks, tone skeptical.

 

Keith sighs, kneeling down and tapping the side of the triangle, creating a barrier that he flings up around them. “No,” he says, before starting the spell in Japanese. _“せんせい、ゆうし、せいしん、せきにん、こくりゅう...”_ he says, fixating on Barron’s character. _A teacher, a warrior, sincerity, responsibility, Black Dragon._

 

The barrier glows brighter, radiating a shade of turquoise that turns more and more opaque as Keith hones in on Barron’s magical essence. He closes his eyes, fingers drifting into the center of the triangle and settles his palm against it.

 

There’s only a small jolt—a testament to his precision and instinct—as the barrier, with them inside, relocates to outside the Black Dragon Guild headquarters several kilometers away. The turquoise vanishes into the darkening sky, revealing the smoky black exterior of the guild building. The entire process takes only a few seconds.

 

“Okay, _how?_ ” “What.” “This is...?”

 

Built on ground that used to house a temple, the Black Dragon Guild boasts a four story building that includes a basement floor that doubles as a meeting and mess hall. After the Ebisu incident, the remaining library and archives were relocated to the second floor. The third floor is private rooms for guild members to live in. The Guild also owns and operates the building next door, a magical weapons shop and training area for team practice or tournaments.

 

“Save all your questions until we get into the office,” Keith says, walking up the path, pulling open the door and ushering Hunk, Lance, and Pidge inside. He directs them towards the stairs in the back, following the entourage across the tiled floor. _Ignoring the stares and paused conversations has never been this hard._

 

The trio waits at the top of the stairs for him. He clasps his hands together to avoid showing his trembling fingers as he leads them down the hall to Barron’s office and ducks inside.

 

The space is well lit and smells like what Keith imagines roasting marshmallows over a campfire in late summer to be like. A plate of mochi and another heaped with dumplings sit on the coffee table off to the right.

 

“Make yourselves at home,” Barron calls from his desk. He waves his hand at the table, activating an unseen spell. Four mugs shoot out from a shelf and clunk softly against the table, the kettle pouring tea into them. After it finishes, it zips over to his desk and refills his own mug.

 

Keith lingers by the door as Lance, Hunk, and Pidge settle around the food. He nods to Barron, who engages the second layer of his security spell, to make sure they aren't overheard and can't be interrupted.

 

As a last precaution, Keith draws two glowing rectangles, pinching them together and expanding them to create a prism. Slapping a glyph on the top—in the shape of an eye with an x over the iris to avoid being seen—he ignites the spell.

 

A thin barrier shimmers into existence, encasing the couch, coffee table, and the four of them. Keith draws a mute symbol and sets it against the barrier wall before joining them at the table, taking a seat on the couch opposite them.

 

****

 

Pidge looks up first, pausing mid-laugh to stare at Red, their eyes growing huge.

 

What they'd thought were just tattoos are _glowing._ Little star-like marks blaze cerulean blue beneath his glamour, like a galaxy’s been compressed into his skin.

 

“Quiznak!” they blurt excitedly, leaping over the table to land on the couch next to him, trying to get a closer look.

 

But Red slides to the far end of the couch, snagging the last mug of tea on the way and squishes himself into the armrest. Upon seeing their expression, he offers a weak smile that's essentially a grimace and bites his lip, like he's unsure what to say.

 

Hunk steps in to break the silence, discreetly trying to get Pidge to move away from Red. “We’re in a barrier because?” he asks, looking around at the spell Red cast.

 

“My magic signature. I don’t need any guild members coming in here to bother me.”

 

Pidge nods in understanding. Red has heavily glamoured their aura behind a ward, to cover up the ridiculous amount of magic imbued into… they're forced to squint. _An earring_ of some kind. The glamour presents his aura as a dull maroon, but they can see the swirling storm of reds and purples underneath.

 

Lance, unaware of this, simply frowns in confusion. “But they’re your guild-”

 

“They _aren’t_.” The words are bitter, clipped short with an unexpected amount of venom. “I freelance,” he explains. “No guild affiliation.”

 

“Do you team up with other freelancers?” Pidge asks, moving to the opposite end of the couch to give Red more room.

 

“No.”

 

“You solo,” Lance says.

 

It isn’t a question, but Red answers like it is. “Yes.”

 

Their host sticks his head in the barrier. “He took down a class four the other day, by himself,” he says helpfully, before heading out of the office.

 

Red winces, like he’s steeling himself for a reprimand, but all the trio can feel is a growing amount of respect.

 

Lance whistles appreciatively, offering Red a grin. “Very nice,” he remarks, almost like a purr.

 

Red sips his tea.  “Thank you,” he says flatly. (Lance thinks he might be blushing. Maybe. It’s hard to tell.)

 

“Can you explain more about extraction?” Pidge asks. “What was the spell that you used?”

 

Red sits forward slightly, tea sloshing in his mug. “It’s sort of like a… magical homing beacon,” he answers. “Develop a connection with a person or place, and you can pull yourself there with magic. If you’re in an emergency, it’s a quick getaway.”

 

Hunk narrows his eyes. “So you hadn’t transported that many people before?”

 

“I’ve done myself and Barron before,” Red answers. “Same principle applies to multiple people.”

 

Pidge snags a mochi from the table. “We were in the barrier with him, so he could’ve easily borrowed from our magical energy to do the transport, but the spell was tied to just his magic,” they remark. “If anything went wrong, Red would’ve faced the magical consequences.”

 

Red looks away at the word _consequences_ with a pained expression.

 

It’s a look that Lance and Hunk saw on Pidge after Matt was taken. They share a glance, and then Lance motions to Pidge. “You ready?” he asks softly.

 

With a soft huff, Pidge nods. Finishing their mochi, they take a sip of tea and relax into the couch. There’s a pause as they steel their nerves.

 

“Six years ago, demons took my brother.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized over the meeting scene for a while, so I really hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> On another note, I have seen season 2 and will try my best to avoid including any spoilers in the next several coming chapters. If something does come up, I'll put a warning in the notes at the beginning. 
> 
> Again, I am on tumblr as [pinevillagegirl](https://pinevillagegirl.tumblr.com) and (as of July 2017) on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)
> 
> More info about the au is available on my sideblog, [tempuradonburi](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/stardust), and questions about it can be directed [here](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> Like the story? The characters? The au? Let me know [here](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/ask) or in a comment! It means so much. 
> 
> If you'd to scream about season two (or my story!), feel free to message or leave an ask at either of my blogs above.
> 
> Next chapter: _and I wonder where you are_


	5. and I wonder where you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Matt and Shiro is finally revealed, and an alliance is formed between Keith and Lance, Pidge, and Hunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Missing Persons 1 &2_ by OneRepublic.
> 
> *unbeta'd
> 
> **Note: the name of Pidge's dog has been changed to reflect the wishes of the Voltron VAs + crew, and to match the info on the Voltron webpage.

_Tokyo_

 

_16:53_

 

_Six years ago, demons took my brother._

 

Goosebumps skitter over Pidge’s skin, the admission familiar but no less painful. They take a deep breath, gathering the strength to continue.

 

“It was June—early summer. Matt was home for the weekend, boxing up some more stuff before leaving for Tokyo. We went to the park with Bae Bae, our dog, and sat on the swings. We just talked. He probably tried to give me life advice, not that I listened.”

 

Their mouth quirks into a smile before their gaze drops to their hands, which start fidgeting. “He told me about his research, what he was going to keep working on in Tokyo, his plans for the Garrison. They gave him early admittance so he could work with Dad, but he was going to finish uni first. Magical studies and astrophysics double major, architecture and computer engineering double minor.”

 

Pidge lets out a small laugh, quiet but sharp. “Overachiever.” They say it like it should be an insult, but tenderness shines through. “He was gonna do it. Already had more than half the work done,” they go on. “He had his own lab, where he would test Sight-tech, and I’d go every day I could after school, trying to help out-”

 

“Pidgeon,” Lance breaks in quietly, poking them in the forehead.

 

“Right.” They sigh and push his hand away, refocusing. “That same afternoon, in the park, demons appeared. Smack in the middle of the park. There were three or four big, nasty ones—class five or greater. Heavily glamoured, probably stank all the way to space. Most people didn’t notice. But both Matt and I have the Sight, so of course we notice.” They wring their hands helplessly. “We can’t _not_ notice.”

 

They look up to see that Hunk and Lance offer them small, encouraging smiles, and that Red has moved slightly closer to them on the couch. He meets their eyes, unflinching, appearing to hang onto every word.

 

“I’m more Sight-sensitive than he is, so overstimulation for him is overkill for me,” they continue, “which is why he was working on Sight-inhibiting magic and tech. To make things easier for us, so us and others like us aren’t overwhelmed and can go on with our lives. So we can avoid getting too caught up in the ley lines and magic all around us. So we can fight.”

 

A lump builds up in their throat that they force back down. “The demons in the park, they didn’t attack. They spoke, all raspy, about looking for something. I didn’t hear what, but Matt went rigid. And then Bae Bae barks, ‘cause he knows something’s wrong. Dogs know. And demons, they don’t have dogs—as far as we know, anyway—so they look over at us, probably all _‘what the fuck was that,’_ and see us looking straight at them. They grin and they _move._

 

“Matt’s noncombatant,” they say, voice breaking. “He stands up in front of me, blocking me from the demons, and says, like some goddamn stereotypical self-sacrificing _superhero,_ ‘you found me.’” They pause, the search for words becoming more painful. “He enters into a, a _contract_ with them, after stating his qualifications—using legal jargon, he somehow gets the entire demon race to, after he ‘willingly goes with them without laying harm to him nor anyone else, cease and desist all efforts here and forever more to capture, apprehend, harm, kill, and have any other contact with _Katie Holt._ ’”

 

Pidge crawls over to Hunk and Lance, burrowing into their warmth as the tears fall. “The demons agree to his terms. But they seem confused, so they ask him: ‘why do you make us swear to not come after this… _Katie?_ ’”

 

Red sucks in a breath, wide-eyed and a gloved hand covering his mouth. Like he knows what they’re about to say.

 

A broken laugh. “The smartass, he says something about ‘nondisclosure’ that annoys the crap out of them. But they already swore safe passage, so they open a portal to their realm. And Matt, he just… _smiles,_ like a- a _loser_ , and says, _‘later, Katie,’_ and he’s _gone._ ”

 

The pause is empty, and painfully quiet. They train their gaze on Red, eyes glassy. “Only after do I remember I have an emergency summon spell. I call my dad and try to explain what happened. We relocate to a Garrison safe zone for two whole years. It was maybe eight months before I was climbing the walls to get out. I needed answers. The furthest my parents let me go was California, so I applied for early admission to the San Fran Institute. Got in, and I’ve been there ever since. Magical studies and research, engineering, and what combat training I could do, I did. Cause he’s _waiting_.”

 

Their voice breaks again, but they continue. “Matt’s smart enough to not actually help the demons. If he had the chance he’d escape for sure. Six years have gone by without that opportunity, and that means I have to give it to him.”

 

****

 

Keith feels something break. The dam he’s built up his emotions behind? _No._ That leaves the lid on his empathy.

 

The words spill out.

 

“Shiro pulled me out of a bad place,” he starts. “He convinced me that magical schooling was safer than trying to manage on my own or in foster care, so I started at the magic academy in Meguro. It’s one of Tokyo’s more famous private schools of magic, and it’s pretty elitist.”

 

He grimaces. “But they provide several students a year with scholarships, enough for the tuition, room, and board. Shiro persuaded them to let me take their placement test to see if I qualified for entry. I knew a lot about magic from books—more than they expected—but other than a few basic offensive and defensive spells, my spell execution was shit.

 

“The academy fixed that pretty quickly—I even got permission to start field training early. They let me tag along with Shiro and his team from Tokyo U, but sometimes it’d just be Shiro and me. It was one of those nights when the demons came.”

 

Keith pauses to collect his words and continues, “we were supposed to meet at Tokyo Tower, but he was running late. He always let me know if he was stuck in a Uni or Garrison meeting that went long. Ten minutes turned into twenty, and still no message came in. So I attempted an extraction of sorts, trying to pull myself to his location. But I couldn’t find him.

 

“I went ahead with the spell anyway, figuring I could get myself close to him even though he might have been blocking me. Came away with a headache.” He huffs a laugh. “I thought I just did the spell wrong, so I went and cast it again. It just made the headache worse, and after a few more tries, I realized the problem wasn’t with my magic. It was the destination.” He has to pause again, pushing past the lump in his throat. “You ever try transporting yourself to somewhere that no longer exists?”

 

He looks away and out the window. His raw magic would have overpowered Shiro’s spell in an instant, but Shiro wasn’t using magic.

 

Shiro was _gone._

 

“I just kept casting and casting, thinking that I would get through. I don’t know for how long,” he says. “My headache turned into a migraine, and I remember throwing up before I blacked out. Woke up in the hospital with a concussion, broken nose, and a few magical lacerations. They said I’d been unconscious for four days, and that some Meguro teachers and Tokyo U faculty were waiting to speak with me.

 

“I didn’t know what to do. But I remembered I had Barron’s card and called him. I tell him what happened and he shows up within five minutes—advocates for me like Shiro would have done, but with more legalese.” Barron knew a little about Keith’s magical essence, and made sure that all the blood samples were destroyed and hospital records expunged.

 

“The Tokyo U profs had found where Shiro had disappeared, but couldn’t access the scene because he’d keyed it. They weren’t sure what he’d keyed it to and thought I might know. So I go with them to Yoyogi Park and find out that he’d keyed it to _me._ I just wander right into the scene, not expecting to see the blood.”

 

Nausea swells, but he sips the tea and squashes it as much as he can. “He’d done a preservation spell, leaving the stench of demons intact. He'd also drawn a glyph. He doesn't even use glyph magic,” he continues, the words bubbling up faster than he can say them. “So I activate the spell, and then I hear his voice.

 

“He’d done a memory message, the playback showing when he was taken. Demons converged on his team. One of them was heavily injured, and he’d sent them away to call for reinforcements. They kept trying to find out if he knew something about うちゅうのこ, the something of the universe. Ko refers to a number of things, like a lake, a door, maybe a kid or something. But they were pretty adamant about it, enough that they took him prisoner.”

 

His next words get lodged in his throat and refuse to surface. _It should have been me._ He sets the tea aside, his hands curling into trembling fists. “It-” he starts, but he’s unable to finish. Urging the lump in his throat to go away, he moves on. “I-”

 

Keith isn’t sure where to go from here. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things in his head, so many emotions welling up that he just needs to _stop_ talking. “It’s been… a long six years without him,” he concludes, staring out the window again.

 

“Tell me about it,” Pidge says quietly, drawing Keith’s gaze. They manage a half-smile, tossing out a laugh. “Just think how great it’s gonna be to see them!”

 

“Real great,” Hunk says softly. “So great!” He turns to Keith, holding up the tissue box. “Is a hug okay?”

 

Keith absently reaches up, feeling for dampness of tears and- _when?_ He accepts a tissue and wipes the tears away, nodding. Hunk steps around the coffee table and gently pulls him into an embrace. He’s immediately surrounded by warmth. Non-stifling and comfortable, Keith feels at ease. When he steps back, the warmth stays with him.

 

“So…” he says, settling back into the couch, “when’s the rescue mission?”

 

****

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lance interjects. _Is he serious?_

 

Red’s eyes narrow at him, unflinching in a way that has him almost shivering- _okay, he’s serious._

 

A good moment passes before Lance registers that all eyes are now on him. “There should definitely be a rescue mission,” he says quickly. “And there will be one,” he assures before continuing. “Even though teams can be built in a day, dynamics can’t.” He turns to address Red. “Yes, you’re powerful, possibly more than us three put together,” he admits, recalling how their host said Red took down a class four by himself, and it had taken the three of them to accomplish the same feat yesterday. “You clearly have experience. So do we. But we don’t have any experience _together_ yet. Nor do we have any way of getting into the demon realm.”

 

“Um,” Red says quietly. “Might be able to help with that.”

 

“Okay,” Lance replies, attempting to take this shocking info in stride. “Cool. That’s awesome, but also sort of dangerous? Anyway, we still need practice. ‘Fortune favors the prepared mind’ and all that. Also, it’d be good to get Coran’s perspective. Since the demons are on the lookout for the ether child, might wanna know more about that before we charge into the demon realm magic ablazing, right?”

 

“I’m with Lance on this one, Red,” Hunk says calmly, offering Lance a smile.

 

“I third and fourth that statement,” Pidge concludes.

 

“Then I fifth! And Hunk sixths, because you don’t just get _two_ votes!” Lance returns, causing Pidge to snort.

 

Red hesitates. After a pause, he says, “seventh and eighth?” His head tilts to the side in confusion, a small smile lighting his face.

 

Lance can’t help thinking _smiling suits him._ “An agreement has been reached,” he exclaims, pretending to faint into Hunk’s waiting arms. “Alright. Good job, guys. Let’s just not come in tomorrow.”

 

Pidge rolls their eyes. “No can do, Lance. We’ve got a rescue mission to prepare for.”

 

“Right. I did say that. Hunk, do we have a sparring gym for tomorrow?”

 

Hunk huffs. _“Do_ we have a sparring gym for tomorrow?” he says, pretending to be indignant.  _"Of course_ we have a sparring gym for tomorrow. From two to five, like we do every Saturday.”

 

“Yeah, buddy, I know. Quidditch practice from seven to nine, though.” Lance turns to Red. “Wanna join? Our sparring practice, I mean. Quidditch is team members only.”

 

Red furrows his brow, mulling it over.

 

“You don’t have to spar _with_ us,” Hunk suggests. “It could be more of an individual practice, technique-trading and observational sort of thing. Snacks or dinner afterwards, if you’d like. Absolutely no pressure.” He steps a bit further out of Red’s personal space.

 

Noting the movement, Red seems to relax a bit more. “Okay,” he finally says. “I’ll come. When is it again?”

 

“Two pm California time tomorrow is one am here the next day. You’re traveling back in time,” Pidge says with an easy wave of their hand.

 

Red sighs. “Alright,” he says. “Where is it?”

 

Hunk pulls out a prepared glyph, a circle with part of the Golden Gate Bridge in it. He touches the center, a light spilling from it and racing up his sleeve. “Here.” He extends it to Red. “It’s preset to take you to the gates of the Institute. You can charge it with magic whenever you’re ready.”

 

Red accepts the glyph, pocketing it quickly. “Thanks.”

 

“Hey hey, just in case there are any complications,” Lance says smoothly, “would you have a preferred method of communication?”

 

One of Red’s eyebrows shoots up. “Do you have a phone?”

 

“Pffft. No,” Lance replies sarcastically as he hands it over, expecting Red to pull it out of his hand. But the guy simply touches a finger to the screen. A second later, a ‘ping’ announces he has one new contact.

 

“You’ve got to show me how to do that,” Pidge says, wide-eyed. “That avoids so many problems. Hunk, did you see that?” They’re quick to follow, sticking out their phone for Red to do the same.

 

Hunk nods. “Another time,” he agrees. “It’s getting late.” He pulls out his phone as well. “I think we need to go outside to portal.”

 

“Portal?” Red looks over, curious.

 

“Our preferred mode of transportation,” Pidge answers.

 

“Second only to broomstick,” Lance adds.

 

At this, Red looks surprised, but he makes no comment. Instead, he leads them back outside, off guild grounds, and moves to scratch the back of his neck. He stops halfway through the gesture, blinking as Hunk steps forward.

 

He slides off his gloves, immediately closing his hands into a praying position. “San Francisco Institute of Magic,” he says, enunciating clearly. Then he opens his palms like a one would open a book.

 

The sound of ocean waves explodes from between them, along with a scene overlooking the bridge, sunlight peeking over it. Car honks blare in the distance.

 

Hunk’s eye tattoos blink at one another, and turn to look at him. “Hey, Horus,” he says with a quiet smile. “Heading home.”

 

Pidge snorts. “That’s half of a tongue twister right there,” they say, and Lance lets out a laugh. He’s quick to stop himself, though.

 

“No offense, your holiness,” he says quickly to the eyes.

 

The eyes look back at Hunk. “None taken,” Hunk relays. “If you would,” he continues, speaking to no one in particular, and raises one hand. The eye faces Red, unblinking. Hunk drops his other hand, the image stretching to reach the ground.

 

Pidge and Lance quickly step through. “See you tomorrow, Red,” Pidge says, waving through the portal. Lance offers a half-salute as he follows them.

 

Hunk steps backwards through the portal, until his outstretched arm is the only part left outside it. He offers a wave as well, and passes through the portal completely.

 

The tattooed eye blinks shut.

 

****

 

Coran is waiting for them at the gates.

 

“It is..." Lance pauses to check his phone. "5:29 am,” he manages around a yawn.

 

“Hello, Lance, Hunk, Pidge,” Coran greets, voice devoid of his usual spunk.

 

Hunk frowns, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong, Coran?” he says tiredly.

 

Coran grimaces. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! 
> 
> As always, comments (and questions!) are welcome.  
> [Tumblr (main)](https://pinevillagegirl.tumblr.com/) | [Tumblr (sideblog)](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)


	6. this awkward feeling is begging for you to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The magic amps up as Keith meets with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance for a nice afternoon training session... that may or may not be classified as a bonding moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _The English Summer_ by The Wombats.
> 
> So this thing turned into a 5k+ word _monster_ of magical shenanigans and dialogue. It's more Keith-centric than I originally intended, but the boy needs love. 
> 
> Please enjoy. 
> 
> **ALSO Special thanks to my wonderful sis Lauren for beta-ing this chapter. Her social media can be found here: [tumblr](https://donmaidonmai.tumblr.com/) | [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedhearts/) much love and thanks to you!!

_Tokyo_

_18:41_

 

Keith isn't sure how long he's been staring at the empty space where the portal used to be.

 

It could be minutes, maybe hours—long enough for the sound of ocean waves stick in his mind. The currents dredge up memories of emotions he’s tried to shove off, whether for safety or time or other reasons that just hurt to think about.

 

Meeting Shiro after the foster home and streets saga was something like a dream. He came into Keith’s life without expecting to get something out of it. He came in intending to _stay_.

 

And stay he did. Until the demons came.

 

Shiro was taken _because_ of his relation to Keith. He’s been hurt, who knows how much, and it’s Keith’s fault.

 

The demons were looking for _him_ the night Shiro was taken. They were looking for Keith the night Shiro lost his arm. Shiro sacrificed so much for Keith—his home, his reputation, his magic, his arm—and he’s stuck out of reach, much like how almost everyone else Keith has crossed paths with has turned up.

 

As a result, he’s learned that getting close to people doesn’t end well. He isn’t sure if it’s a curse related to his magic, but for multiple people to come into his life only to disappear—it can’t be a coincidence.

 

While his mind clings to caution, his heart desperately wants friendship. Since he can't have family, he'll take friends as he can get them. If he can't have friends, he'll settle for allies. And if he can't have those…

 

He'll be back to square one, broken all over again.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut against the storm that rises in his magic. Purples swirl against reds, coiling against his skin under his ward. Rather than seeing the colors, he senses them—tastes the burning of a stellar flame, a fiery violet mass speckled with red like a Pollock painting, and then he feels it—a glimmer of gold, braided with cerulean and pine green in his jacket pocket.

 

Removing the glyph with a relieved sigh, he runs his fingertips over it. The thread of magic may be the sliver of hope he's been waiting for for who knows how long. He’d be a fool to cut it loose when it may as well be connected to a nice handy rope that can pull him up from wherever he’s been hanging.

 

 _You can only cling to the cliff until your body betrays you._ First the feet—lose your footing and you’re already halfway back to the abyss. Next it’s his hands or his head, maybe his spine. But never the heart, no. Not that old thing.

 

Within his ribcage the dust swirls, falling, fracturing, _collapsing_ into the dense, burning radiance of a star.

 

Hope is a heavy thing, but it's been Keith's burden for as long as he can remember, and even longer than that.

 

He turns on his heel and heads home, trying to ignore the star settling between his ribs.

 

****

 

_San Francisco_

 

_13:26_

 

Pidge blindly reaches across the table for something, refusing to look away from their terminal screen.

 

“I’m still processing what Coran told us about the ether child,” they say, scrolling through the information one-handed. “Could someone pass me my Rover-type please?”

 

Hunk looks at them skeptically. “You’ve warned us enough to not touch your equipment,” they say dryly. “Even the prototypes.”

 

“For fear of death!” Lance adds. “I’ll only use objects that’re designated by Coran as non-lethal.”

 

Pidge side-eyes Hunk. “Fine,” they acquiesce. Can't argue with the truth. “Consider this a _one-time_ get-away-with-touching-the-equipment-for-free card.”

 

Hunk passes it to them gingerly, careful to only touch the grips. “Which version is this?”

 

“6.2.4,” Pidge recites without hesitation. “I modified the power flow design. Trying to adjust for sudden energy influxes and accommodate for splitting the receptacle-”

 

“English, please,” Lance says, leaning over to rest his head on the table.

 

“That _was_ English. Anyway, back to the ether child who I’m now calling The Kid.” They squint at the screen, pausing to highlight a blob of text. “Based on what Coran said, The Kid our demon mentioned and the universe gate Red talked about last night are likely one and the same.”

 

“I thought it was universe ‘door,’” Lance says, scratching his head. “Huh…”

 

Hunk frowns. “How likely?”

 

“Likely.”

 

“Can I get a percent?”

 

Pidge pauses, considering. “74.8.”

 

Lance sits up. “If that’s true, then whatever the demons were looking for six years ago, they didn’t find.”

 

“It’s gotta be important, if they spent six whole years looking for it,” Hunk muses.

 

Pidge clears their throat. “Guys, I’m gonna read a section out loud,” they announce. “Hold all questions ‘til the end.”

 

“Aye aye, Captain Pidgeon.”

 

“From Coran’s notes:

 

 

 

 

 

> The child of the ether, also called the door to the universe, refers to a being of extraordinary magical power. According to legend, they have existed since the beginning of time to ‘quell the darkness and evils of the cosmos.’ Their magical essence is derived from astral energy, and they are said to have an extremely deep recess of magic, so abyssal it is practically limitless. As such, they are believed to hold the key to unlimited magical energy.”

 

“Unlimited magical energy? Holy crow,” Lance remarks. “Also, I was right about it being universe door.”

 

Hunk looks nervous. “Ohhh, this is _not_ good.”

 

Pidge skims the next section, eyes narrowing.

 

 

 

 

> _Those who claim to have seen one are few, but the commonality across all claims is that such a being has the ability to create and wield celestial phenomena. Some believe they’ve witnessed fire likened to solar flares. Others insist they saw ice from comets. One incredibly audacious person claimed to have seen a black hole._

 

“I need to talk to Red,” they think aloud.

 

“He’s here,” Lance says, surprised. Hunk and Pidge look over at him, finding him staring at his phone. “What? I messaged him to check when he was coming.”

 

Pidge and Hunk share a look. Well, more like a series of looks that last about thirty seconds. Long enough to hold a conversation.

 

Pidge turns away first, shutting down their terminal. They turn to Lance, a glint in their eye that has him slightly worried. “Let’s get over to the gate to meet your _crush.”_

 

A flush rises to his cheeks. “He is _not_ ,” Lance says, pushing away from the table.

 

“Okay, Lance,” Hunk says, sighing. “Whatever you say.”

 

“Hey Lance, your cheeks are red. Get it? _Red?”_

 

Hunk laughs as Lance pulls up the hood of his jacket to hide his face.

 

****

 

Keith stands just inside the gates, shoving his phone back into his pocket. The motion forces his gaze to pass over his bright _visitor_ tag that ‘must be visible at all times’. He grimaces.

 

It would be unfortunate for it to get ripped up in training. He'd be very sad and ought to have an excuse. _Sorry, professor, I tend to have really bad luck._ Maybe blatant honesty would do the trick. _Sorry sir, I really don't give a damn about the sticker._

 

“Heya, Red!”

 

Keith looks up to see Pidge, Lance, and Hunk heading his way. He offers a half-wave, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Hi,” he manages to call back, voice sounding foreign—not in tone, but in volume.

 

He's never been soft-spoken, never been afraid to argue. But the world has never liked loudmouths, so he's learned to pick his battles.

 

Well, at least filter some of them out. There’s been times when he’s had no choice but to run. He doesn't like to think about those. But he can only run so far before the demons up their ante and do something drastic—after that, he won't be able to run.

 

The stars will pass their judgment and he doesn’t know if he’ll live to see the end of it.

 

“How are ya?” Lance asks, gently pulling him back to the present.

 

Keith shrugs. “Alright.” He gestures in the direction of the campus as they start walking. “Seems nice.”

 

“The labs are great!” Pidge says, holding up their staff. “This is a new prototype for my weapon. I changed up the power flow design to see how it impacts performance. I’m trying to-”

 

“Pidgeon, slow down a minute?” Hunk suggests calmly.

 

It is the nicest, most polite interruption Keith has ever witnessed. He’s so surprised that he misses what Hunk says next. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

 

He smiles. “Sure, just said we’re heading straight for our training gym. It’s a real nice facility,  one of the few in the US that operates on the best sequencing algorithms for training.”

 

Keith blinks. He hasn’t bothered with tech simulations in almost… four, maybe five years? After he got into taking bounty cases, they became his practical training. “That’s really something,” he says. “I’ll use the guild’s sparring center after hours with Barron sometimes, for sparring practice rather than training.” He gestures at the hilts of his swords that barely peek over his shoulder.

 

Pidge stretches back on their heels, catching a better look at the sheathing and hilts. “Can I see?”

 

He pulls a blade out without a second thought, turning it carefully so it extends towards them hilt-first.

 

“Hey, I recognize those!” Lance says. “Tanto blades, right?”

 

Keith nods, surprised. “How’d you know?”

 

“History channel,” the three of them chorus. “They have some really good stuff, especially documentation on Egyptian mythology and weapons from around the world,” Hunk explains.

 

Pidge looks at him, quickly handing the blade back. “I can’t tell if it’s the blade, the handle, or the enchantment that’s old,” they remark, scrutinizing him for a reaction.

 

“Yes.”

 

His simple answer is received by laughter, only broken by Lance announcing they’ve arrived.

 

The gym building is tall, with lots of windows that don’t quite look like glass, and it’s reinforced with concrete pillars. Lance heads over and holds the door open, and Keith follows Pidge and Hunk inside.

 

The ceiling stretches up somewhere between two and three stories in height. Bathrooms and a few tables are on the left side, while the right features a small dojo-like space. Padded walls and floors—the wall mats stretching up a full story—are good for warming up.

 

A hallway up ahead separates the entry area from the main training zone. Stairs on either side of it lead upwards, probably to a viewing area. The hall itself has a series of shelves, probably for storing gear and belongings, and also houses two terminals.

 

Pidge moves for the one on the right automatically, fingers gliding over the screen. Keith follows, settling for peering over their shoulder. Not understanding the menus, he turns, moving for a closer look at the training area.

 

The inside of the room is almost completely open, save for a balcony-like ledge running all the way around it. The windows look like reinforced plexiglass. The opacity amps up after Pidge adjusts some settings, shutting out the bright daylight. LEDs flicker to life, a thick stripe wrapping around the room muted by what looks like a translucent sheet of plastic. Another strip in the shape of a photo frame on the ceiling illuminates the whole room.

  
The floor is concrete, sporting a pattern of small squares. The pattern stretches up the concrete pillars and—he squints—on the ceiling and ledge as well. All surfaces are powerfully warded, likely with a cushioning charm to reduce injuries and also a containment spell, to prevent magic used inside from wreaking havoc outside.

 

“Ok, I’ve hooked the cam feed directly to the Enterprise,” they announce. “My name for my main terminal,” they clarify for Keith.

 

“We record our training sessions,” Hunk says. “We can include the really good ones in our log. The more training sessions you do, and the higher your success rate, the more opportunities for field work you have.”

 

“Plus, it’s like we’re starring in our own action movie,” Lance adds. “If it bothers you, though, we won’t record it.”

 

Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine with me as long as it doesn’t go public.”

 

“You got it,” Pidge says. “Hunk?”

 

“Yep?”

 

“I’ve rigged up a randomized program that should spawn no more than ten class twos and threes. It should start as soon as I enter. Unless I say the code phrase-”

 

“Don’t pull the plug. Got it.”

 

Pidge grins, unslinging their weapon from their back strap. “Red, watch this!” they say, strolling into the room.

 

Keith moves past the terminals, shifting as close to the main area as he can get without entering it. The squares pulse with light, bursts that start slow but rapidly increase in speed before shutting off entirely. The unsubtle snarl of demons echoes through the room.

 

Hastily scanning the room, Keith sees _eight_ of them, three class threes and five class twos.

 

Pidge flicks their wrist, blades springing out from either end of their staff. “Come and get it!” they cheer, the staff’s end blades starting to crackle.

 

The class threes gather together towards the far end of the room, letting the class twos group up. A squadron of miniature horse-sized demons advances toward Pidge.

 

They sigh loudly. “Typical.”

 

Lance snorts, and Keith is suddenly aware that he’s moved up beside him.

 

The demons launch their attacks in a stream, one after another raking their claws at them, leaving Pidge no time to rest. Their staff is a blur, blades whistling and shooting sparks.

 

None of the attacks land.

 

Pidge sees an opening and takes it, spinning their blades in an arc that takes out two demons at once. The demons explode into little digital cubes that scatter across the floor and quickly dissipate.

 

“Nice!” Hunk cheers from beside the terminal.

 

“Oi, Pidgeon, your aura shield!” Lance calls helpfully.

 

The Pidgeon in question pauses slightly, and the demons see it as an opportunity to strike.

 

It’s a mistake. The sparks burst into fireballs, incinerating the remaining class twos.

 

Huffing, Pidge turns back towards them. “LANCE!” They yell. “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY?”

 

Hunk laughs. “Don’t mind them,” he says. “They’re always like this.”

 

“There’s still demons left, Pidgeon!” Lance says.

 

Keith just watches. The way these three get on each other’s nerves is relaxing, somehow.

 

Pidge converges on the remaining class threes, standing as tall as they can against these SUV-sized monsters. They tap their foot against the ground, somewhat impatiently before dropping into a crouch, one hand out in front, palm splayed, and the other holding their staff. “I don’t have all day,” they say.

 

The demons pounce as one.

 

Keith’s pulse races—partially from worry, but also from the need to fight. He spares a second to glance at Hunk, who has a slight sheen of sweat on their forehead, and then flicks his gaze to Lance, who merely has a lazy smile.

 

He notices Keith looking and stands up taller. “They’ve got this,” he says easily, pointing at Pidge.

 

Keith looks back in time to see Pidge throw their staff at the demons, yelling “ENERGIZE!”  

 

The weapon emits a vapor that blasts out towards the demons. They screech, repelled by the cloud of gas. Pidge vaults out of range, pressing something on their wrist. An aural barrier shimmers into existence around them. They walk back over to where Keith and the others wait, and pause in front of Hunk.

 

“There. You see? Barrier.”

 

“You know, Lance was the one that-”

 

“He said it for your benefit,” Pidge interrupts, tone soft. “I appreciate your concern.”

 

“Um, Pidgeon? The sequence isn’t over yet.” Lance points behind them, drawing everyone’s attention to the remaining demon. It’s partially dissolved but still intact and advances, batting the discarded staff out of the way.

 

The weapon clangs against the floor. Pidge’s jaw drops. “He did _not_ just do that to Rover,” they say quietly. Their magic flares up around them, a precisely controlled web of emerald energy that wraps around the demon, freezing it in midair. They stride over to it, breaking into a run that ends with them slamming the heel of their hand against the demon’s _manipura_ chakra point.

 

Target the ‘solar plexus’ and disrupt the energy flow. _Nice._

 

The demon flies backward, still trapped by the net. Pidge snatches up Rover and slices through it without looking, effectively ending the training sequence.

 

“Yeahhhh, Pidgeon!” Lance cheers, Hunk whooping alongside him.

 

They stride back into the hall, eyes alight with adrenaline and offer Red a smirk. “You’re up,” they say, pointing an end blade in Lance’s direction. A flick of their wrist retracts the blades, and they frown, tossing the staff slightly. “Power flow still needs adjusting,” they mutter thoughtfully.

 

“What’s that, Pidgeon?”

 

Hunk taps the terminal screen, reverting it to what looks like an initial menu. Selecting one of the icons, he scrolls through a series of submenus before finally deciding. He carefully places his gloves in one of the cubby-shelves—next to the one with a broomstick—before entering the training room. “Lance, buddy, you coming?” he calls over his shoulder.

 

Lance turns back to Keith. “Sorry, man,” he says, backing into the room after Hunk. “Enjoy the show.” He waves slightly before turning away. “Pidgeon, start her up!”

 

They elbow the screen without looking, starting the next sequence.

 

“What’d they pick?” Keith asks, attempting to decipher the screen.

 

Pidge glances at it. “Randomized, producing class threes and fours. Wait…” They raise an eyebrow. “No more than five in total, ranging from intermediate to advanced magic.” They peer into the room which has just gone dark. “Show offs!” they call indignantly.

 

“Like you didn’t do the same thing!” Hunk answers brightly from within the darkness. The LEDs have shut off, and demons hiss from just inside the doorway. “Lance, light it up in five! Four!”

 

Pidge nods to Keith. “Mind your eyes,” they say, grinning. Keith hastily draws a glyph that only vaguely resembles sunglasses and throws it up in front of them just as Hunk’s countdown reaches zero.

 

A thin film-like barrier shimmers into existence right before a blinding flash erupts beyond it.

 

Keith still has to close his eyes against the brightness. Only behind the safety of his eyelids can he tell that the flash is actually a series of mini flares. They pepper the room silently, save for the demons’ growling.

 

The radiance fades after a few seconds, not entirely gone, but Keith opens his eyes anyway. He'll risk partial blindness to witness the magic. Touching the sunglass screen, he makes a flicking motion to zoom.

 

Hunk appears center stage, aural barrier a blaze of sunflower yellow. He steps across the room towards Keith in what looks like Tai chi on fast forward. Every sweep of his hands forces the demons closer together, like he's constructing an invisible wall. The demons rage, slamming into it and raking their claws, but they’re unable to wreak any damage on the other side.

 

Keith shifts to the other side of the doorway to get a better view. He reaches out slightly with his chakras, but all he can sense is sunshine. Sunshine with blips of cobalt.

 

“What kind of magic is that?” he asks Pidge.

 

“Yellow or blue?”

 

“Yellow.”

 

“That’s chi magic,” they answer, unblinking, before turning to him with a curious expression. “Wait, you can see the colors?”

 

Keith retreats inwardly, feeling himself blanch from a distance. “No,” he says quickly, which is essentially true. He’s not _seeing_ colors—seeing isn’t the same as sensing. “I,” he starts, attempting to offer an explanation but not sure where to go. “I-” he stops again, words failing him and wrings his hands in frustration. “Um-”

 

“Can you hear them?” Pidge interrupts, tilting their head in thought. “Or is it more of a smell?”

 

Thank the stars that they can word properly. “Taste,” he says, relieved. “Sometimes smell too, but mostly taste.”

 

Pidge hums in a tone that Keith hopes is positive. “Let’s talk more later,” they say, turning back to the fight.

 

Keith follows their gaze, scanning through his screen for the far side of the room where, up on the ledge is Lance. He’s got a glowing blue bow drawn, string pulled back but no arrow visible.

 

The string snaps forward and Keith tastes cobalt in the form of a shimmering tang of energy. A demon explodes into pixels, wisps of cyan fading into the air.

 

“Can you tell me about the blue?” he asks quietly.

 

“Mm,” Pidge says. “That’s a bit more complicated, in that it’s a combination of two main types of purification magic—light and water. Usually you'd pick one or the other to specialize, but...”

 

“He refused?”

 

Pidge frowns. “Not exactly. Purification is one of the more popular magics around. Most people know some basic level incantations and don't take it much further than that. Advanced practitioners are rare.”

 

Keith knows some powerful purifying charms but doesn’t practice purification magic. It's not out of his skill range, but it probably has to do with the fact that he can't quite associate himself with the word _clean_. “Hmm.”

 

“Like ‘the wand chooses the wizard’ from Harry Potter?” Pidge continues. “Purification is a magic that chooses you. Lance refused to be swayed either way, and ended up with both.” They sigh. “It’s not like he could be forced to pick, either. He relies on both to surf.”

 

Keith files this information away for later, returning his focus to Hunk and Lance. Hunk’s tai chi pace has slowed, settling into a repeated motion that maintains the invisible wall. Lance fires another blast of cobalt into the mix. “Hunk, you ready?” he calls, loud enough to be heard over the demons.

 

“Whenever you are, Lego-lance!”

 

Lance stands, his glowing bow fading out of view. He backs up against the wall before breaking into a run, leaping off the ledge. He covers two thirds of the room—what has to be at least twenty, thirty meters—in a mere second, recreates the bow and draws the string back while midair. This time Keith can see an arrow.

 

The string twangs, and cobalt erupts across his tongue. Indigo fire sweeps through the enclosed space of demons, blowing a hole in the center that Lance lands in.

 

“God, he really is showing off,” Pidge mutters.

 

“Why Lego-lance?”

 

Pidge stares at him. “You can't be serious.”

 

Keith can't peel his eyes away from the magic. “I’m always?” he says.

 

“Lord of the Rings? Legolas?”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Do you have any idea who I’m talking about.”

 

The keyword there is _any._ “Yes.” Time for a subject change. “How did Lance cross the room like that?”

 

Pidge seems to hesitate. “That’s one of what he likes to call his ‘ace up the sleeve’ maneuvers,” they say, not really answering the question.

 

A cloud of dandelion booms from within the room. The terminal pings, signaling the end of the sequence.

 

“Nice work, buddy,” Lance says to Hunk, an arm slung over his shoulder as they enter the hall.

 

“You up for a sim?” Hunk asks him.

 

Keith nods. “Sure. Just a quick question about the wards. How strong is the containment one?”

 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “It’s a class six enchantment. Should keep anything in there, well, in there.”

 

A class six, huh? He should use his prepared one, just in case. He turns to Pidge. “Can you show me how to use the menus?”

 

“Sure thing,” they say, stepping over to the terminal. A touch of their finger resets the menu. “So this first one determines randomization. You up for a surprise?”

 

Keith grins.

 

“Okay then. Next is difficulty and aggro.” They scroll through the menu with a flick of their finger, difficulty modes flying across the screen. “You have a preference?”

 

“The most difficult thing. No limiters.”

 

Pidge sighs, Hunk takes a step back, and Lance whistles. “Okay then,” they say, tapping something. “The sequence’ll start once you go in. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

“Nope,” he declares, entering the room anyway. He quickly sticks his own ward glyph on the wall just inside the entryway, turning back over his shoulder to. “But I don’t lose.”

 

****

 

Hunk scrambles for the terminal. “What the quiznak did you give him?” he asks, trying to get a read on the screen.

 

“Exactly what he asked for,” Pidge says. “Eleven out of ten difficulty, randomized aggro, high level magic. For all we know, something nasty could happen in there.”

 

The flashing lights shut off, leaving them in silence.

 

“Shouldn’t we hear some snarling, at the least?” Hunk asks nervously, hands automatically closing into a praying position.

 

There’s only the telltale hum of magical energy, followed by the appearance of a glowing purple triangle glyph. It expands into an aural barrier, encasing Red in a thin outline before vanishing.

 

Pidge frowns in thought. Rendering powerful magic invisible takes a lot practice, but Red’s vanished within seconds of casting. _Interesting._

 

A distinct _shick_ of metal as Red unsheathes his swords. The LEDs flicker to life, revealing a demon that resembles a hydra. The body is small for its class, around the size of a minivan, necks thick and corded like the harboring ropes of the Titanic. A whopping _nine_ of them stretch up and up and up, enough that they seem to scrape the ceiling.

 

Drool slips from the mouths, sizzling against the wards on the floor and bubbling, giving off a steam. _Acid._ Or, as similar as the system can produce without seriously damaging students.

 

“Does he look afraid?” Hunk says, curiosity getting past his nerves. “I’m afraid. For him.”

 

“We can’t see his face, man,” Lance answers. “Pidge, you got anything?”

 

They squint, allowing their Sight to take over for a second. “No big magic has been cast by either. No fear, either. Wait-”

 

Red drops into a crouch, swords sweeping to either side as he touches his boots. Purple-red flares into the room with the radiance of sheer magical energy.

 

Pidge sees the thrum of magic like watching a running engine through a window, axles turning and gears whirring so fast and smooth they're a soundless stream of color. They note the faint violet lining around the room: a ward that has to be Red’s. _He doesn't trust the class six enchantment?_

 

They hastily tap on the right terminal, pulling up the cam feed. Lance and Hunk quickly turn to it while Pidge squints into the room, further activating their Sight.

 

The hydra spews fire, a white heat that blurs the air. Red ducks and rolls left, coming up swinging. His blades miss the creature by inches. Lunging right, he springs into a leap, maybe five feet and bats aside a ropy neck with a well-placed kick. Acid splashes, drenching his swords and drizzling onto his aural barrier, which holds firm.

 

The blades glow, appearing to soak up the acid’s magic while the actual substance slips to the floor. Red stands in midair, spinning into a precise flurry of slashes. A neck falls to the floor, severed cleanly.

 

The stump drips black blood, shuddering and hissing, but Red makes no move to torch it. In an instant the blood stops oozing, pulled back to its source by something like tiny threads. The neck floats upward, a weightless bubble before it reattaches itself to the hydra, slash wound sealing shut.

 

Red zooms backward, drifting onto the ledge by the door and out of Pidge’s line of sight (both of them). “Don’t enter the room,” he warns in a low voice. “Whatever you do, _don’t come in._ I’ve got this.”

 

“I didn’t know the simulations could produce something this advanced,” Pidge remarks in awe.

 

“The base algorithm is yours though, isn’t it?” Hunk says.

 

“He does know tantos are for stabbing, right?” Lance adds.

 

Pidge sighs. “Yes, part of the base code is mine,” they admit. “But a non-Lernean hydra? That’s fucking impressive.”

 

“Language,” Hunk and Lance chide in unison.

 

Pidge scowls before deigning to answer Lance’s question. “Red’s tantos are designed for slashing. The blade is slightly longer than the standard, and I’d bet my Rover-type they’re imbued with an extension charm.”

 

“So the actual blades can be extended, or the enchantment extends the blades’ reach and power?” Lance asks.

 

“Too soon to tell.”

 

The hydra advances forward, shooting more acid in Red’s direction. He dodges, zipping sideways on his own gravitational plane. Heads snap and he dives, spinning into a fury of blades, too fast to see.

 

He lands on the floor opposite and below the ledge where he started, nine necks thudding to the floor behind him.

 

“Holy shit,” Lance whispers.

 

“Affirmative,” Hunk is quick to reply.

 

Black blood hisses then goes quiet. The heads float up en masse, bringing the feel of an eerie puppeteer show.

 

Red scowls. “Really? That didn’t do it either?” He flicks a blade to clean it and shoves it back into its sheath. His now free hand draws a glyph—Pidge can’t tell what of—that he closes into his palm. Opening his hand, he has two of the same glyph. He flicks his wrist, fanning the glyphs out like a hand of cards and two become nine in an instant. Speeding forward, he jams a glyph into each of the stumps before the wounds seal shut again.

 

Something starts to sizzle. The hydra screeches, backpedaling, using its tail to support itself. The heads inspect the wounds, fangs tearing into its own skin and muscle and coming away dripping in something thick, white, and reflective.

 

“Quiznak,” Pidge says, picking up what he did right away. “If that’s what I think it is, that’s fucking brilliant.”

 

“What did he do?” Lance asks, retreating from the terminal screen and resting an arm on their head.

 

They duck out from under the weight. “Shh.”

 

Red glides smoothly toward the beast, shrinking the size of his ward. As he raises his sword the demon whirls, tail catching him in the chest, sending him flying. His aura ward cracks, the magic becoming visible and fading in and out. A loud _smack_ as he slams into his own ward and he drops like a stone, only to halt an inch before the ground.

 

His boots right him into a standing position. His free hand wipes his mouth, coming away bloody, and falls back to his side. “You asked for it.”

 

Red raises his sword directly above his head like a beacon. “Be judged by the stars,” he says, starting to carefully weave a pattern with the blade that seems to resemble a river. Points along it seem to glow, light getting stronger and he suddenly jumps out of his ward, crashing to a heap near the entryway.

 

The trio’s gaze flashes between his form, obviously exhausted, and at the magic unfurling in the room.

 

The points blaze from reddish-orange to medium blue to a radiant white, shooting streams of magic that tear into the hydra, rendering the beast immobile, defenseless, and headless. Pidge counts seventeen streaming flares, the last one officially ending the training sequence.

 

Red’s ward, now empty, fizzles out into the air. The three of them rush into the room, a mess of worry, awe, nerves, and questions.

 

“Red?”

 

The wizard in question stirs, lifting himself from the floor briefly. “Wait, you’re here? In the room? It’s not safe!” He bolts upright, staring at where the hydra used to be. Upon not seeing it, he relaxes. “Keith, one, hydra, zero,” he says, proceeding to collapse back to the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. hold onto yer hats folks the cliffhanger will be resolved next chap
> 
> p.p.s. not too sorry for the puns I cracked up while making them hope you all had fun reading them as well
> 
> Thanks for sticking around! Hope you enjoyed the chapter (^^) 
> 
> As always, comments (and questions!) are welcome. Did you have a favorite scene, moment, or line? Enjoying the story? I'd love to know!! ^^  
> [Tumblr (main)](https://pinevillagegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [Tumblr (sideblog)](https://tempuradonburi.tumblr.com/)  
> In other news, I now have a _[Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)_ where I'll be posting about updates for this story, sometimes fun snippets I write for the chapters in advance of actual chapters, about Zines I'm participating in and just sharing other content I like.


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